See Lights, See Stars, See Clear
by backinthebox
Summary: Her professor had advised her to seek out a performer she could look up to, someone who would force her out of her safe zone, someone who could challenge her. Think of people she had worked with before, he suggested, someone she could go toe-to-toe with.
1. Chapter 1

**See Lights, See Stars, See Clear**

Spoilers: Some spoilers for seasons 1 to 4.

Disclaimer: All characters that sound familiar belong to Glee and its owners, I'm borrowing them for fun. Please don't sue.  
The title is borrowed from the song See Clear by Lightouts.

A/N: I hate everything that's happened to Glee after season two, especially the part where they keep trying to convince viewers that Rachel belongs to someone not named Jesse St. James. And Brody is just Jesse St. James Lite/Wannabe, so don't get me started.

Finn-bashing, for obvious reasons.

It can be a one-shot, but if there's a positive enough of a response, I find no reason not to continue it.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

* * *

"I knew it was just a matter of time."

Rachel Berry blew out an exasperated sigh before she plastered on a polite smile and turned to the boy who had spoken.

She hated that smug smile. "Hello, Rachel."

"Jesse." Rachel said politely. She gestured to the seat opposite hers. "Please, sit."

Jesse St. James's smug smile faded to something more... amused, it seemed, but he took the offered seat, placing his bag and jacket on the seat to his left. He leaned back, and waited.

And waited.

A waitress came by, and he ordered a cup of coffee, black, with sugar and cream on the side, because even if it was a coffee shop in New York, he was the only one who knew how to mix coffee the way he liked it.

And then he waited some more.

She only just kept staring at him, her face unreadable, and while he could understand fascination regarding the magnificence that was his face (all of him, really, if he were to be honest), he really preferred not to be so openly stared at.

At least, not when he wasn't onstage.

When the waitress brought him his coffee, he smiled politely at her before he begun mixing his drink together, all the while watching Rachel waiting for her to blink.

"Not that this isn't a _riveting_ discussion, but I actually do have other places I could be, so if we could hurry this along?" Jesse suggested, hoping to prod Rachel into actually talking.

Honestly, that text message asking for a meeting had been a surprise, since he was sure he was the last person Rachel would ever turn to for anything, but it didn't inconvenience him in any way and the fact that a message had even been sent had piqued his interest, which was why he even bothered to show.

Besides, he was somewhat invested in Rachel's future career - she was an ideal duet partner and a reasonable co-star - so it was probably in his best interests to start rebuilding bridges with the girl.

Rachel blinked from her stupor, and frowned. "Why are you here?"

He gave her a wry look. "You wanted to meet."

"Yes, but why are you _here_?" She moved her right hand to emphasize her query.

"I could ask the same," he replied, already knowing her reaction to his implied question.

She gasped, affronted. "If you must know, Jesse St. James, I am a freshman at the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts. I am _insulted_ that you would think I would be anywhere else other than New York City."

Jesse's expression turned skeptical. "You really want me to answer that?"

An affronted huff, which he presumed could be translated to a yes.

"The last time I saw you, you were all signed up to be Mrs. Finn Hudson, and I think we both know he would never succeed in New York. In fact, I'm fairly certain your association with him is what got you nearly Ohio-bound, since your dedication to him prevented you from applying to any back-up schools."

She glared at him. "I got into NYADA well enough."

"From what I gather, entirely based on your solo at Nationals, because you stated yourself of how you humiliated yourself in front of Carmen Tibideaux. I've been meaning to inform your solo was spectacular, by the way, since I failed to see you after the awarding."

Rachel faltered in her indignation. "Thanks," she frowned, confused at her own reaction. She hadn't expected to be flattered that Jesse liked her performance, since she already knew it had been wonderful. She frowned. "Are you here all the way from Ohio?"

He chuckled. "No."

"You live in New York now?"

"Sure."

"What are you doing in New York?" She would be so very jealous if he said he was in a show. Maybe he was just auditioning.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Jesse said flatly.

Her frown deepened. "What about Vocal Adrenaline?"

He sipped his coffee. "What about them?"

"Won't they be short of a show choir director?"

"New Directions have been short of a show choir director for three years," Jesse pointed out. "Didn't hurt your chances at Nationals last year."

"I will have you know-"

"If you're defending William Schuester, please know that I don't care." He cut her off. "What am I doing here?"

"But-"

"Rachel, I'm obviously not involved in Vocal Adrenaline anymore. Whatever happens to them is already beyond my control, thus beyond my interest."

Rachel's jaw dropped at his blasé attitude regarding the show choir that he had chosen over her, the one that had won him national acclaim and four National titles, the same show choir he directed for a year and brought to Nationals. "I would never be so dismissive of the New Directions."

Jesse tried not to roll his eyes _too_ hard. "Rachel. If you called me to discuss our high school show choirs, I'm going to stop you right there and sigh over how you just wasted my time. Let me reiterate: I have moved on from Vocal Adrenaline. At this point in my life, and where I am, I can honestly say that I have better things to be concerned about than a high school show choir in Ohio. I've moved on." He reached over and took hold of his jacket in a move to warn her of his possible departure. "I understand that you have a strong sense of loyalty, but you were the one good thing about your glee club, Rachel. The fact that they didn't even make it past Sectionals without you is telling."

Rachel stared at him with a confused look on her face. "They're heading to Regionals."

Jesse scoffed. "Who told you that? Hudson?"

Rachel frowned, because _yes_.

Jesse sighed. Fine. He folded his jacket over his arm as he leaned forward and explained the lapse of logic she was applying. "They didn't finish their set, Rachel. It's all over show choir circles how last year's winners so spectacularly failed hardly a year later. Your glee club failed with hardly a whimper. _Gangnam Style_, really? They weren't even trying. They weren't even in the running because they were disqualified by not finishing their set."

"Marley-"

He gave her a look, silently reprimanding her for her interruption. "Getting The Warblers disqualified didn't get them the victory; it just made them look even more pathetic. Either Schuester doesn't care and is just lying to his group to save face, or he can't read because I'm pretty sure he would have gotten an email from the Ohio State Show Choir Committee informing him of the results of Sectionals and an elaborate explanation on the disqualification and the change in placing after The Warblers also got disqualified, which doesn't matter, because New Directions got disqualified, therefore making The Rosedale Mennonites the team to go on to Regionals."

Rachel hesitated. "Finn is directing them."

His derision was magnified ten-fold. "Suddenly both explanations are plausible."

"Jesse."

He shook his head. "Unless you called me here for reasons not involving high school show choir, rest assured I'm heading out that door. So. Again. Are we here to talk about show choir?"

Rachel relented. "No."

Jesse returned his jacket to the chair beside him, and settled back in his seat.

She envied the way he was so comfortable in his body, the way he moved so gracefully, communicating his intent and emotions clearly in his movements without any effort at all.

Jesse regarded her. "Let's try this again. To what do I owe the honor of this meeting, Rachel?"

Rachel eyed him critically before she sighed. "As I mentioned, I'm studying in NYADA."

"You don't say."

She ignored him. "While I have been... thriving, I was recently informed by one of my professors that he doesn't believe that I am pushing myself hard enough in my efforts. Which, I admit, might have some grain of truth, a truth that may have been contributed to by distractions pertaining to my personal life."

"Surprise." He muttered.

She shot him a glare. "May I continue?"

Jesse rolled his eyes, but motioned for her to continue.

"One advice he gave me was to work with someone who I trust, implicitly, as a performer." Rachel admitted.

"Barbra wasn't available?"

"I've had a really trying past few weeks, Jesse, please do not aggravate me."

He leaned back, and studied her thoughtfully.

She looked different. She was not the naive, bright-eyed ingénue he'd known when they first met, nor was she the old soul with the hopeful heart and sad eyes he'd returned to after his disappointing foray into California climate. Then again, he preferred either of those versions to the one he saw last year in Chicago, the one he apathetically called Rachel Hudson. This version of her looked more mature, with the highlights in her hair, but was obviously a watered-down combination of the first two. There was still some spark in her eyes, but the girl he'd lov- liked would never have allowed herself to be so distracted by "personal distractions".

Across from him, the subject of his scrutiny fidgeted. Her professor had been firm in his request for her to challenge herself, because while he could see her obvious talent, and her work was acceptable, he felt that she could do better, that she had a wealth of talent yet untapped. He had advised her to seek out a performer she could look up to, someone who would force her out of her safe zone, someone who could challenge her. Think of people she had worked with before, he suggested, someone she could go toe-to-toe with.

It had been that term that had sparked a memory, of someone whose obvious talent had matched - even eclipsed - her own; the only person who had found a flaw in her brilliant rendition of Don't Rain On My Parade at Sectionals.

She had tried to convince herself of other peers - there was a girl in one of her classes that could sing opera beautifully, a boy who could blow her voice out of the water - but Finn had never been a match vocally in terms of her range and strength, the same held true for Brody, Kurt saw her as a rival (and she now realized that deep down they were still two divas fighting for the solo for Defying Gravity), and Santana didn't like her enough to sit through long rehearsal sessions. Honestly, none of her immediate circle had her talent or discipline, and her classmates would be able to smell blood in the water if she asked for peer advice.

She had sent Jesse a simple message: _Hi. Hope we could talk. Are you available this week?_ He had responded with a request for date, time and location, and now here he was.

He had already confronted her about her insistence to discuss something she now understood to be trivial: that of high school show choir competition, and now she was worried that he would think she was incapable of moving on, of moving forward, and found her desire to work with him laughable.

Seriously though: what was he doing in New York?

When he still refused to answer, she hastened to explain why she'd contacted him. "I'm sure you're wondering why, of all the people I know, that you would be the one I would reach out to..."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No. Please. It's obvious. You're asking for professional help and considering you've been in NYADA for months and surely by now you've come to realize your previous assumption of talent - your precious Glee club - was woefully mistaken, and I'm the most talented person you know." He grinned. "Other than yourself, of course."

Rachel was sure she would never get over the pure, incredible conceit of this boy.

He nodded. "Very well. I'm available every day after five, and Thursdays and Fridays after two. Saturdays are up for requests, but Sunday is my rest day. I will contact you if there are changes to my schedule. You will be in charge of our meeting locations, there should be a piano and acceptable acoustics. I will bring the sheet music. You cannot bring any of your friends. I will tolerate healthy debate, but I will not accept insolence on your end, Rachel. You've asked me to do this."

"I can draw a contract up regarding this partnership."

"Mentorship." Jesse corrected. "You create the contract, and list down your expectations. We'll discuss tomorrow."

Rachel frowned. "Tomorrow?"

"Success waits for no one, Rachel." Jesse pointed out. "And you've been in NYADA for months apparently without an adequate partner. That's simply unacceptable, we can't allow your voice to continue to languish in sub-par duets."

She was pretty sure he meant Finn, but...

Jesse leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about NYADA."

"What?"

Jesse smiled, and he was suddenly less a brash instructor telling his student off, and more the boy who had once stolen her heart. "We'll be seeing each other a lot in the coming weeks, Rachel. And if this is going to work, I need to have an understanding of where you are, and you're going to have to accept that I'm a part of your life now. So, tell me about NYADA."

She knew she should hesitate. She shouldn't be so open and trusting, especially since Jesse had hurt her before. But she had broken his heart, too, and she had missed having someone to talk to that understood where she was coming from, all her references, how she felt, her self-belief and her insecurities; someone who didn't begrudge her anything, didn't envy her, didn't offer her false platitudes. He would understand her difficulties, her worries, the fact that she had been the best singer and most talented person in McKinley High, but that was no longer true in her new school.

He asked her to trust him, to tell him about NYADA.

So she did.


	2. Chapter 2

**See Lights, See Stars, See Clear - 2**

Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply/Same disclaimers as Chapter 1.

Oh, some of the opinions of this fictitious version of Jesse St. James do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the writer.

A/N: I do enjoy writing Jesse St. James.

Thank you all so much for reading/following/reviewing/favoriting this story. I appreciate them all so much, and I hope this lives up to your expectations.

This is un-beta'd, so I apologize beforehand for any horrible errors in spelling or grammar. If this reads awkwardly, I'm sorry (call me out on it if you want).

Finn-bashing, for making it easy.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

* * *

She was greeted by the harsh ringing of an alarm clock as she entered the room.

"You're late." Jesse informed her, swiping the clock from the top of the upright piano.

Rachel frowned. "I'm right on time."

"And in an audition, if the person ahead of you was so awful that they cut her audition short and they called you, you would have been marked absent." Jesse said simply. He tossed the alarm clock at her. "Turn that off. I think I've made my point."

Rachel barely got her hands up in time to catch the offending object. She found the switch to turn the alarm off, and turned to Jesse. "How long have you been here?"

"That doesn't matter." Jesse leaned against the piano beside him. "That's your first lesson: if you're late, you've wasted my time. Tardiness is unprofessional, and unacceptable."

"I was on time!" Rachel protested.

He gave her a patronizing smile. "Do you wear the same watch as Will Schuester, Rachel? If you do, I can find you a watch that works."

She glared at him.

He held out his hand, and she slapped the alarm clock back into it. "Just because the clock has offended you by its accuracy is no reason to be so aggressive towards it, Rachel. One might think you're jealous of its precision."

She growled.

He was surprised she didn't stomp her foot, as she used to be prone to do.

"Excellent." Jesse placed the clock back on top of the piano and crossed his arms. "I have to ask: is there a shortage of bigger spaces available in NYADA, that you've summoned me to a by-the-hour studio?"

"It was the best I could manage at short notice," Rachel argued. "I wasn't sure if we needed the piano/acoustics combination for a meeting involving a discussion of our contract so I found one just in case."

He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, and he held out his hand. "Documents, please."

She rummaged through her bag, and extracted one of her larger books. Jesse watched in both amusement and trepidation as she found the document she was looking for. "Here."

Jesse only looked at it, before lifting his gaze up to her. "Since when did you become tolerant of clutter, Rachel?"

The dropped jaw and indignant gasps were really getting old. Jesse snatched the papers out of her hands, and read silently.

Rachel dropped her bag onto a nearby chair and watched him nervously, since she knew it wasn't exactly her best work. She hadn't been doing much in the realm of documentation beyond the necessary school work for the past year or so, and she'd been a little rusty while she composed their agreement contract last night. She hoped he found it acceptable.

Jesse glanced at her over the papers. "Shouldn't you be warming up?"

"Don't you want to discuss the contract?"

"I do, and I recall saying we would, but I didn't specify at which point of our meeting we would be doing that." Jesse reminded. "Warm-ups, Rachel."

She took a sip of water from the bottle she held before she moved past him to the piano, beginning some vocal warm-up exercises. Internally, she wondered for the nth time since she first decided that Jesse would be an ideal instructor if this was really a good idea. After all, she and Jesse still held some residual tension from their previous relationship, and Jesse knew all her quirks and impulses. He knew how to rile her up, and honestly, she's had enough of that from Cassandra July, her dance teacher last semester. And unlike Cassandra July, she didn't know how to one-up Jesse St. James, since in a lot of ways, he was a more cunning and ambitious version of herself.

"Stop."

Rachel stopped abruptly, and glanced at him.

"Do that note again."

Rachel obeyed.

"Again."

Rachel frowned, but did it anyway.

Jesse nodded. "Better. Continue."

Jesse watched as the girl's face scrunched in annoyance, before he turned back to the document he was reading. Honestly, he didn't care what he read, he wasn't going to sign it, anyway. Not when it included ridiculous items like "not insult Glee Club" and "only favorable comparisons to Barbra". He had wanted to know what Rachel thought his limits as her mentor should be, but it's like a high school student wrote the document.

He glanced at his student, and signed internally. The sad part, as he learned yesterday from her narration of her life so far in NYADA and New York, and was now slowly really getting to understand, she really was. Deep down, Rachel Berry, for all her bravado and big talk of moving on in the big city, was still a high school girl playing at being a college freshman. She liked the freedom, but not the responsibility. She liked being a young adult, but seemed to lack the maturity for it. He understood from her stories what her professor had been trying to say: Rachel was getting by solely on the basis of her talent. But for a girl who was in one of the most prestigious performing arts schools in America (possibly even the world), she didn't seem to be really maximizing what she could be achieving.

Sure, she had won NYADA's Winter Showcase. That was a big deal, previous winners have all gone on to respectable careers. But she hadn't capitalized on it. She hadn't signed up for any of the more challenging classes, not auditioning for anything of substance.

And he was worried about her relationship with the guy… he wants to say Benny, but that can't be right. The junior. The junior who's so talented he barely made it through a summer stint on a Broadway show as a dancer. A _dancer_. He used to think Rachel had better taste than to settle for a dancer, but obviously he had been mistaken.

As it is, a dancer was already a giant leap up from her previous relationship with Finn Hudson.

Honestly. Rachel was beating him in the contest of bad life choices. At least he'd just cut his collegiate life in California short. _She_ had been willing to be tethered to a ball and chain masquerading as a tub of lard in the form of a football player who couldn't dance (or sing). A football player who couldn't make it through a football championship without the help of a bunch of girls and couldn't replicate the effort one year later. Heck, he didn't even get into Ohio State, and that was a party school.

Maybe he was being too harsh. After all, Rachel was here now. But that didn't discount from the fact that she still kept referring to events in her old high school even in a discussion about New York.

And yes, Jesse might still be a little bitter. But it was OK, bitter made for excellent material for acting out angst and anger, and those were usually the basis for acting awards, the Tonys included.

Jesse paused, and glanced back at the girl. "Do you have your elliptical in New York?"

Rachel frowned, confused. "No?"

"Do you jog?"

"No."

"Go to the gym."

Rachel shook her head. "No, Jesse what–"

"Your breath control is appalling. Your range is better, but you're making unfortunate breathing breaks."

"I breathe fine."

Jesse was skeptical, but he merely shrugged. "It'll just be a pity if all the money you threw at Madame Vivienne was for naught. She would be so disappointed. Best we keep this to ourselves."

Rachel gasped her offense, because _how dare he_ insult her by invoking the name of her tyrannical vocal coach in Lima. The woman had been demanding and a perfectionist, had honed Rachel's perfect pitch to the point of tears, and had instilled the discipline of proper breath control when singing, and now this… this… this _jerk_ dared to tell her Madame Vivienne would be disappointed in her?

Jesse watched, amused, as Rachel obviously mentally scrambled to construct her comeback, her retort, her tirade against him. Poor thing, apparently having dated Hudson for so long made conjuring suitable comebacks futile to the point that she wasn't so quick in making them anymore. "If you're not going to respond in a timely manner, let's continue." He rolled up the contract. "How much time do you put in singing, on a daily basis?"

"What?"

"Most of your classes are lectures." Jesse reminded. He slowed his speech and cut up his query into phrases. "How much. Time. In a day. Are you. Singing."

Rachel scowled at him. "I sing all the time."

"Not answering my question."

Rachel sighed. "I don't know. I have vocal lessons every Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays for two hours."

"Solo, or in a class?"

"Class."

"How about one on one work?"

Rachel shrugged.

Jesse frowned. "Really?"

"I have classes, Jesse! And this isn't like high school where I can get out of class by saying I need to work on something for Glee Club to prepare for Sectionals, Regionals, or Nationals." Rachel reminded.

"Odd, considering your Glee Club were hardly ever prepared for competition." Jesse mused.

"It's in the contract that—"

"I haven't signed it yet," Jesse pointed out. He waved his hand dismissively. "And that wasn't an insult, that was a statement of fact. So you haven't been getting in a lot of practice? Isn't Carmen Tibideaux one of your performance teachers?"

"Everyone in my class is talented, Jesse. I don't get to have a solo just because I want it." Rachel argued.

Jesse quirked an eyebrow in her direction. "Since when?"

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Jesse smirked. "Interesting."

Rachel worked her jaw, eager to defend her statement. After all, in a class full of talented singers, why _would_ she get more solos than everyone else? Jesse didn't know what he was talking about.

"Can you tell me what song you performed to make your professor think you should get some additional help?" Jesse asked, idly glancing at a nearby wall before he leaned against it.

"Not While I'm Around." Rachel answered.

Jesse frowned. That… was concerning. The song from Sweeney Todd was good, but not much of a challenge — not for someone of Rachel's ability and talent — and certainly nothing that should have caused red flags to be raised. If her teacher found Rachel's performance lacking, this was more dire than he had expected. Well. First things first. "We're going on an open call."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What? No! NYADA freshmen are discouraged from—"

Jesse gave her a look. "You're not going to get hired." He reconsidered. "Well, probably not. But what we're looking for is a professional opinion on where you are, market-wise."

"What good will that do?"

"You'll know for sure if you're as destined for stardom as you think you are or if you're going to become just another small town girl grasping at straws." Jesse shrugged. Lie. He wanted a professional casting director to tell Rachel to her face her areas of improvement, for her to get a dose of reality, and so she can come face to face with the truth about the talent pool in New York.

Because he wasn't sure if she was still the Rachel Berry he had known, just playing down her confidence, or if she really was this shadow of herself.

"The open call I had in mind was for a dancer/singer, so I figure, we'll be told what you can do in terms of dance, but also what you can do to get cast." He continued.

"They don't tell you that."

"Not usually, but you're talented enough to make an impression that they'll want you to improve to the point where they can hire you."

"I'm underage."

Jesse gave her a look. "Do you trust me?"

Rachel set her jaw and looked at him defiantly. "When is this audition?"

"Saturday. Two o'clock." Jesse told her. "What song do you think will you be singing?"

"On My—"

"No."

"But–"

Surprisingly, even to himself, Jesse hid his exasperation well. "Did you see the box office return for the movie? It was a holiday movie, it got nominated for an Academy Award. Everyone saw it. And thanks to Tim Burton making people think Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter should be allowed to sing in film musicals, and now Russell Crowe, everyone thinks _they_ can sing _Les Miz_. As if it wasn't bad enough before, now you really can't sing _Les Miz_ at an audition. Don't sing On My Own."

"…It's a classic." Rachel feebly finished her earlier protest, but knew when to cut her losses.

"Something else." Jesse said definitively. He gave her a pointed look. "_Not_ Defying Gravity."

Rachel rolled her eyes in exasperated compliance. "Anything else?"

"I want you to send me a new video every day of you singing."

"Excuse me?"

"Every day that we don't meet, you have to send me a video."

Rachel crossed her arms defensively. "I don't know what you're up to, or what elaborate ploy you have up your sleeve, but I will not be your personal jukebox, Jesse."

Jesse shook his head in annoyance. How can she still doubt his motivations? "I am not one of your glee teammates who only appreciate you or your talent when I need you to win competitions."

"No, you're the guy who tried to seduce me away from my team and then dumped an egg on my head when that didn't work."

"I apologized."

"That doesn't change facts." Rachel retorted. "Finn would never—"

"Oh yes, of course. Let's talk about Finn. Let's discuss how the guy who screwed up your chance to win Nationals your junior year, you were willing to marry." Jesse interjected. "Has _he_ ever apologized to you? For anything?"

"That's…" Rachel protested.

"I have always been supportive of your career, Rachel. Of your future, your ambition. I have never downplayed or tried to dissuade you from where you wanted to be." Jesse reminded. "And I watched each one of your videos, even when I detested the user interface of MySpace. Trust me, if I'm asking you to do something as simple as delivering a song on video, there's a reason for it."

"What?" Rachel demanded. "What reason could there be for you to ask such a thing?"

Jesse sighed, and spoke as evenly as he could. "You need to be singing regularly, Rachel. Practice makes perfect, remember? Besides, having it on video will give you a better idea of your performance."

He didn't know why he had to tell her, since she had told him as much when he had asked her years ago why it was imperative that she record and upload a new MySpace video every night. Apparently she had forgotten.

That was worrying.

Rachel sulked. "Fine." He had a point.

Jesse had to smile at her petulance, and decided to reel in the disagreement before she completely sank into her sulking, opting now for humor. "Besides, I figure it'll be nice blackmail material, for when you'll refuse to cast me as your leading man for unfathomable reasons…"

"Shut up."

"I mean, I'm reasonably good-looking, some say even better-looking than most people, after all, and I have an insurmountable amount of charm…"

Rachel felt herself smile, despite herself. "Shut up."

"I imagine you wouldn't want to compare to my incandescence, but–"

Rachel rolled her eyes, laughing softly. "Okay!"

"Okay?" Jesse pressed.

"Yes!" Rachel conceded. "You win! Do you want those videos in a CD, or shall I email it to you?"

Jesse shrugged. "Surprise me."

Rachel shook her head before she gave him a haughty look. "Oh, and by the way, you being more incandescent than I am is impossible."

He smirked. "Keep telling yourself that."

She shot him a mock glare.

Jesse laughed as he approached the piano and sat down, bringing his folder full of sheet music with him. "I'm warning you now: I'm not forgetting that you think you're more incandescent than I am."

Rachel smiled as she watched him sort through the pieces he had brought. She thought back, considering once more if she was right in choosing him as a mentor, and realized with a start he had been able to criticize her, told her of some elements in her behavior and attitude that he didn't like, but managed to do so in a way that didn't diminish her or degrade her in any way. Sure, he insulted her breathing technique, but it was possible he was doing that from one professional to another.

"I do, you know."

Jesse glanced at her from where he was organizing his music on the piano. "Do what?"

"Trust you."

Jesse paused, letting that confession sink in, before he looked back up at her and grinned. "It's the warm smile, isn't it?"

Rachel rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Shut up."

"The twinkle in my blue eyes?" Jesse pressed, jokingly. "Or the charm: I bet it's the charm."

Rachel pointed to the piano. "Play."

"The natural curl of my hair?"


	3. Chapter 3

**See Lights, See Stars, See Clear - 3**

Disclaimer: Same disclaimers as Chapter 1. Songs and lyrics are borrowed from their respective owners.

A/N: Oh. While this vaguely follows some of season 4, I won't follow it too much (because I haven't really been watching it). So if there are small inconsistencies, just think that those aren't the droids you're looking for.

Yes, I know Rachel drops her jaw a lot. She does so some more here.

Plus: As I go through my drafts and outline, I've come to realize that this is both going to be a wishful thinking fic of how St. Berry can make anything (even Glee S4) better, as well as character rehab for Rachel Berry, because I honestly don't know who I'm (Tumblr-)watching anymore.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

* * *

She was parched. She was finished with her bottle of water and was now on her second, courtesy of Jesse.

She had never been this thirsty in recent memory.

She gazed up at Jesse, who was watching her in concern. "You're evil."

"You're out of practice." Jesse said flatly. Okay, _maybe_ two and a half hours of voice lessons would cause anyone's vocal cords to dry up, but Rachel's been in lessons practically since she could talk, and he knew she knew the tricks to stay hydrated - she just hadn't employed them.

"And you're such a good judge of that." Rachel took another long drink of water.

Jesse shrugged. "I'm not the one who's struggling with hydration."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

Jesse checked the clock on top of the piano. "It's dark soon. We should go."

Rachel nodded as Jesse went about keeping his things, that stupid clock included. "I think it was a good first session, don't you?"

Jesse shrugged. "It's a start."

"You were patient." Rachel touched his arm, and when he turned to look at her questioningly, she softly continued. "I haven't had a lot of that in NYADA. Or even with Mr. Schue, to be honest. I appreciate that."

"We'll get there, Rachel. I know I won't need to browbeat it out of you." Jesse assured her. He reached for her bag from where she had dropped it earlier, and slung it over his shoulder. He groaned at the weight. "What do you have in here?"

"My books. And clothes." Rachel sighed as they left the rehearsal space. "My apartment is practically an entire hour away, so I have to bring everything with me to school."

"Don't you have friends who live closer to your school? Like your friend Benny. Where does he live?"

"Brody. And he lives in the dorms. But I don't like..." Rachel frowned. "I can't leave my things in his room. He could go through it."

"Then don't leave anything incriminating in your bag." Jesse pointed out, opening the door for her to the street.

"There's nothing incriminating..." Rachel shot him a glare. "There's nothing to incriminate!"

Jesse laughed. "Then what's the problem?"

Rachel shook her head, and turned away from him.

He chuckled under his breath, because he knew she couldn't stomp away from him: he had her bag. "What about your other friends?"

She fell silent.

"Rachel."

Rachel turned to him.

"You _do_ have other friends in NYADA, right?"

She hesitated. "Not so much _friends_..."

"Friendly acquaintances? Casual study partners?" Jesse pressed. He grew concerned as she shook her head and bit her lower lip. "Rachel, other than Kurt and Santana and your friend Benny, you _do_ talk to other people in your school, right?"

"Well..." Rachel drew out. "After I won the Winter Showcase I kind of had a following? They fawned over me and gave me flattering remarks."

"Those are hangers-on."

"You don't know-"

"Rachel. I was male lead of Vocal Adrenaline for four years. I know what hangers-on are. Those kind of people turn on you and replace you quicker than Barbra can fill a fundraiser." Jesse reminded. "What about friends?"

Rachel sighed. "Well, like I told you: I didn't get along with my roommate in the freshman dorm, and a lot of my classmates are my competition so I can't really count on them for friendship."

Jesse sighed. "So befriend an upperclassman."

"Brody's a junior."

At this, and despite himself, he remembered an older voice telling him, _'Befriend' was the word I used, actually._ "Someone you're dating doesn't count. And his friends you've met don't count because those are his friends, unless you've hung out with them without him."

Silence.

Jesse shook his head. "You can't count on Kurt and Santana for your entire set of friends in New York, Rachel. You should meet more people."

"But I'm fine with Kurt, Brody and Santana." Rachel protested.

"Rachel. There are something like a million people in New York-"

"Eight, actually."

Jesse looked at her. "I'm only talking about Manhattan, because that's the only population that matters."

"I live in Bushwick."

"And that's a shame." Jesse replied.

Rachel gave him a confused look.

"The point is, there are a lot of people in New York City. There's got to be at least one person here that you can count on that didn't go to McKinley with you."

Rachel smiled. "I have you."

Jesse sighed, because when she said things like that, he could forget that theirs was not a romantic relationship. He adjusted the strap of her bag on his shoulder, and motioned to a nearby food truck. "Taco salad?"

Rachel grinned. "The pampered Jesse St. James eats from a food truck?"

Jesse shrugged. "A guy has to learn to eat on a budget, right?"

"You mean your parents aren't bankrolling your stay in New York?"

He had to laugh. Really. She had no idea. "If only. I think their accountant told them to make sure I curb my expenses to prove I really want to stay in New York."

She could detect a clue when it was right in front of her. "And... what, exactly are you doing in New York?"

"Nice try."

Damn it.

"So. Taco salad?"

Rachel shook her head. "Santana's cooking us dinner and she tends to get violent when Kurt and I don't eat it. She says we're offending her grandmother's recipe."

"Santana's willing to cook vegan just to cater to you?"

"I'm not vegan anymore."

Jesse stared at her. The same girl who almost slapped him for offering her buttered popcorn was now telling him that she wasn't vegan anymore?

"It's impolite to stare."

"Since when?" He managed to ask.

"For a while now, OK?" Rachel asked wearily. "It's not a big deal."

Except it was. And he said as much.

"I... It was hard to stay vegan in Lima, you know? I couldn't keep up the strict vegan lifestyle. And then I got here, and there's so much new food to try..."

Jesse shook his head and stepped away from the food truck, continuing on his way to the nearest subway station.

"Jesse..."

"How safe is your neighborhood at night?"

"Don't you want to talk about this?"

"There's nothing to talk about." He said flatly. "Your dietary regimen is your business."

"Then why are you so upset about the fact that I'm not vegan anymore?" Rachel demanded. She grabbed his arm and caused him to still his forward motion. "Hey! Stop."

"Of course I'm upset." Jesse hissed. "I admired you because you were so illogically vegan in a meat-eating state. Your dads had to convince you to relax a bit and settle for being a vegetarian."

"It's not a big deal."

"Right. I just can't help thinking there were maybe five or six vegan restaurants in and around Lima, two of those we only went to once, and you loved what you ate both times. So I'm thinking either you're not the girl I thought you were, or you're more easily swayed than I hoped you were."

Rachel stared at him, jaw dropped. She slowly closed her mouth, and hesitated before she spoke. "You gave it that much thought?"

He threw up his hands. "I know you think a lot of our relationship then was a lie, but I actually really _did_ care about you, Rachel. That included caring about your eating habits. Maybe I grumbled more than I should have that I had to eat meatless pasta or that pizza is pointless without pepperoni, but I did it. And I did it for you. But if you decided that your 21-slide PowerPoint presentation on why meat is murder was worthless - to quote, 'not a big deal' - that's your decision."

Rachel faltered.

"Is your neighborhood safe at night?" Jesse asked again, because he really didn't feel like continuing the discussion on her veganism when he had inadvertently revealed more than he wanted.

Rachel glanced at him, at the show face blank expression he wore, and sighed, following his lead. "It's OK, I guess. But I'm actually meeting Kurt for drinks at Callbacks before we head home for dinner and deal with Santana."

Jesse nodded, and altered his route to head to the collegiate bar instead of the nearby subway station.

Rachel glanced at him, watched him apparently trying to calm himself down, if the way he was working his jaw was any indication. She also took a moment, appreciating that he was moderating his pace so that she could match his stride comfortably, unlike a certain six-foot-four boy that used to stumble when he tried to match her stride, or pulled her hand along when they walked according to his. And Jesse made sure she was always just within arm's reach from him, indicating they were together even though there was zero contact between them. They walked in silence for a few blocks, before he spoke again.

"About our arrangement."

Rachel nodded, and waited expectantly for him to continue.

"In the contract you're very... _specific_ on what you would and would not like to happen during our sessions," Jesse began. "I'm a little concerned about the fact that you don't state, at any point, what your expectations are regarding the end result."

Rachel's brow furrowed as she glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Your professor told you to get help, right? Challenge yourself, improve some facets of your performance?" Jesse paused as Rachel nodded. "But, how do we measure that? What do _you_ want to get out of these sessions?"

"I... I don't know."

Jesse gave her that same indiscernible look. "I forgot to ask before, but if you have a copy of your professors' feedback from last semester, I'd like to see them. I'd like to see what Carmen Tibideaux writes in her end-of-term assessments."

Rachel turned to regard him. "You seem to respect her a lot."

"She's reminded me more than once that just because I'm the greatest thing in high school show choir doesn't mean I deserved a spot in her class." Jesse answered honestly. "I don't need to be her student to learn from her."

"Your NYADA audition was with her?" Rachel asked interestedly.

Jesse nodded. "Into the Woods."

Rachel giggled. "You and Sondheim, honestly."

Jesse smiled back. "What? We all need a go-to score. You have Funny Girl, I have the wider library of Stephen Sondheim."

Rachel grinned. "I suddenly have this dream of seeing you sing Broadway Baby."

"Don't tempt me."

Rachel hooked her hand to his elbow. "Why don't I hear you sing anymore?"

"Because we haven't seen each other in ages?" Jesse guessed. "If you'd kept up your volunteering at the homeless shelter, I still held concerts every weekend, when I wasn't holding Vocal Adrenaline weekend rehearsals."

Rachel made a face. "You practiced on weekends?"

"Those lifts don't get themselves done, Rachel."

"New Directions don't have lifts." Rachel noted.

"You need solid background in dance to perform lifts properly," Jesse reminded. "Booty Camp doesn't count."

Rachel grinned up at him. "Did you have Booty Camp in Vocal Adrenaline?"

Jesse chuckled. "First, we would never call it something so ridiculous, but I guess you can expect as much from the same man who called his high school show choir the Nude Erections."

"Why do you think I suddenly change diction and call it _di-rections_?" Rachel retorted.

"And we call it dance rehearsals, because you don't get into Vocal Adrenaline dancing like a half-assed zombie." Jesse suddenly jerked Rachel closer, just as a guy on a bicycle passed them. "Anyway, I'll tell you what."

Rachel looked at him eagerly.

"If you play your cards right, I'll sing for you." Jesse said.

"My song of choice?"

Jesse scoffed. "I'm not singing Top 40, that's insulting."

Rachel gasped in feigned indignation. "I beg your pardon, I'd like to think I'm primarily adult contemporary and musical theater."

"Maybe." Jesse acquiesced. "But I get veto power."

"Of course."

They kept walking until they got to the front door of Callbacks, the bar that NYADA students frequented. Jesse motioned to it with a flourish. "Your destination."

Rachel glanced inside, and turned to him. "You want to come inside?"

"You want your buddy Kurt to see me?" Jesse questioned warily. "All those questions? Are you really looking forward to the barrage of phone calls from your _bestest_ friends about us hanging out? Don't you have enough drama in your life?"

Rachel pouted. "No. I mean, to the questions and phone calls. But..."

"We're working on _you_, Rachel, and from what I can tell it's better if we keep this between us for now. Let's not complicate it by having everyone think this is about us."

"But-"

"We'll get there." Jesse promised. "Eventually it won't matter, and we can hang out with Kurt knowing - maybe even _with_ Kurt - and it won't be a problem. Now isn't that time."

Rachel frowned, and conceded to his logic. "But I want to hear you sing."

"As I said..."

"Play my cards right." Rachel finished his thought. "I know."

Jesse gently extracted himself from her hold, and handed Rachel her bag, stepping back. "To start? Think about what you want out of this: Be it a successful audition, or just a song you want to perform. Set a goal for us. And we'll go about achieving it."

Rachel hefted her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Jesse shook his head. "Prepare for your audition."

"We haven't agreed on what I'll perform."

"Surprise me."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Guy on a budget's got to have his cheap thrills, right?" Jesse grinned. "See you Saturday."

Rachel bit her lip to keep from grinning back, before turning to the door.

"Hey, Rachel."

Rachel turned back.

"For motivation," Jesse offered, before singing a teaser of a song. "I'm a Broadway Baby, slaving at the five and ten, dreaming of the great day when I'll be in a show!"

There was no force on Earth that could have made Rachel's beaming smile fade. Jesse St. James singing Broadway Baby was too good.

He winked at her. "See you Saturday."

"Saturday." Rachel promised. She watched him walk away before she schooled her features to at least dim a little before she walked into the bar.

Jesse was right: she didn't want Kurt to start asking questions.


	4. Chapter 4

Her preparation for her audition went by the wayside when she woke up Friday morning with a text message on her phone, from Finn.

_Nd ur help._

Rachel groaned, rolled onto her back, and stared up at the ceiling of the apartment because this was too much déjà vu for her: Finn always seemed to know when she was consumed by thoughts of another guy, and always found a way to make his presence known. The fact that she was preoccupied with thoughts of Jesse St. James would have probably sounded like an alarm in Finn's head.

_Jesse._ She couldn't figure him out. He had responded to her initial invitation with curiosity, then promptly took control of their interactions by assigning himself as her mentor. Not a partner, not a peer, not anything that could allow her to undermine him: he was her mentor, and she was his student. And as if that wasn't startling enough, he approached teaching very differently from what she was used to, advising her more than simply telling her. He demanded perfection, but didn't berate her into doing what he wanted.

That was the other thing she couldn't figure out: she couldn't get a read on him on whether or not he was interested in her romantically. He made his displeasure known whenever she would bring up Finn, but she couldn't figure out if that was because of the past, or if he was still jealous of the former quarterback. Jesse also refused to remember Brody's name, but then he hadn't made much of an effort to learn the names of the New Directions when he had been in McKinley.

Not that she wanted him to be jealous. They were friends. Just friends. She had Brody now.

She wondered if she should tell Jesse that she and Brody were in an open relationship.

Or would that be crass?

She once more glanced at her phone and contemplated just ignoring the text message, but she had never been able to do that. She hadn't ignored any of the hundreds of times Cheerios would prank her by pretending to be friendly only to later respond with _Why would I be friends with you, loser?_. She hadn't been able to ignore the red herring that had been Jesse's invitation to meet him at the school parking lot so soon after that _delightful_ Queen number.

But then again, she had a feeling she knew what Finn needed help on, considering it was mid-February and that meant Regionals was coming up. Finn's lie on making it to Regionals must be catching up with him.

Just when she had decided to text back and ask what Finn needed help on, just to assure him she wasn't completely ignoring him, the phone in their apartment rang.

"Berry! Up and about!" Santana yelled, interrupting Rachel's introspection.

For someone who did nothing the whole day, Santana Lopez woke up too damn early. Rachel suspected Santana got up early just so she can berate her and Kurt for taking so long in the shower and/or take long showers and keep her and Kurt waiting.

_Cheap thrills,_ Rachel thought in amusement, remembering Jesse's turn of phrase.

Santana peered around the divider to Rachel's bed, took one look at her, and rolled her eyes. She spoke to the cordless receiver in her hand. "Sorry, Finnept, but Berry's still in La-la Land. Annoy someone else until a decent time, why don't you. And who even still uses a land line?" Pause. "Don't care. Go annoy someone else." She pressed a button, and turned back to Rachel, who was watching her. "You owe me, Berry."

"What for?" Rachel asked cluelessly.

Santana scrutinized her, and then rolled her eyes. "I don't even know why I try with you."

Rachel frowned.

"What's the jolly green doing calling you, anyway?" Santana asked curiously. "Aren't you with Magic Moves Ken Doll these days?"

"Finn is my friend, Santana." Rachel reminded.

Santana sneered. "Oh, I bet. Does Ken know you're still _friendly_ with your ex-fiancé?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I don't need to defend my friendships to you, Santana."

"Yeah..." Santana drawled. "Bet you fifty you're gonna do the horizontal tango with Hudson. Because, you know, you're such good friends."

"You're crass."

"And you're an idiot." Santana retorted. "At least Ken Doll has abs."

Rachel shot her a confused look, but Santana ignored it. "Hummel made omelettes. I've eaten most of your share."

Rachel climbed out of her bed, and trailed Santana to the dining table. "Do you have any auditions today?"

Santana sighed. "Bouncers here are smarter about fake IDs."

Rachel looked confused.

"I need an ID to get into places and get hired, Berry." Santana reminded.

"Have you considered recording a demo?" Rachel asked.

"I'm not footing it around New York," Santana said quickly.

"MySpace?"

Santana snorted indelicately. "Who even still uses MySpace?"

Rachel pouted. "You need to get your talent out there, Santana."

"You're just saying that 'cause you want me paying rent."

"It would help us out a lot," Rachel admitted. "My dads are already making noise about me starting an expense report."

Santana laughed. "That's 'cause you keep wasting trips to Lima to see a tub of lard."

"Santana."

"Berry." Santana rejoined. "Look, I get it. I spent a lot of time checking in on Britts when I could have really been basking in the college experience. I'd probably still flunk out, but point is, no amount of Britt time kept us together. And now I'm here and she's happy with Trouty and maybe that's where we should be for now. You've been talking Broadway for fucking ever and you're here and why are we still talking about this and why are you smiling?"

Rachel smiled at her. "You care about me."

"What? No." Santana objected.

"You do." Rachel beamed. "You like me."

Santana rolled her eyes.

Rachel laughed softly. "OK, Santana. It'll be our secret."

* * *

She was able to avoid Finn's numerous text messages until lunch, when Kurt cornered her and forced her to stay still while he dialed Finn's phone and made the call himself. He forced his phone into Rachel's hand and, to his credit, stayed while Rachel took part in an awkward conversation. When she didn't seem like sharing after, Kurt left only with the reassurance that she would tell him later.

She took a seat in one of the window alcoves in the hallways of NYADA, this particular seat looking out to the street. She took out one of her text books to pretend to read while she contemplated on the situation.

Apparently Finn Hudson can ignore her text and calls for months without a problem, but she tried to do the same for a few hours and he played the stepbrother card.

Finn wanted her - no, to quote him, she _needed_ to come to Lima and help him break the news to the New Directions that he had been wrong and they won't be making it to Regionals.

He wasn't asking, nor was it a request. She had an _obligation_ to go to Lima for her to tell _his_ students that _he_ had made a mistake in building their hopes up.

On the heels of Santana's comment that morning at how much time, effort and money she was wasting on her trips to Lima, Rachel found that she was reluctant to continue the trend. But she also understood that Finn hadn't misled his team on purpose, he just hadn't understood the lengthy email the Show Choir Committee issued regarding the Warblers' disqualification. He would need someone to help break the news to the team.

Rachel picked up her phone, and dialled.

It rang once, twice. And then an automated message told her how to leave voice mail.

Rachel frowned, opting not to leave a message, and instead turned back to her book (History of Theater).

Two minutes later her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Rachel." Jesse greeted. "You called?"

"That depends. Did you reject my call?" Rachel asked prissily.

"Rachel, it's scarcely been twenty-four hours since you last saw me. Could you really miss me so much already?"

_Such. An. Ass._ "I have a conundrum."

"Yes, Rachel, there is no winning a showdown between Bernadette Peters and Patti LuPone."

"Patti is an institution! Bernadette Peters is brilliant, but she is hardly an institution, Jesse." Rachel immediately argued.

"I swear, this is like the great Idina and Kristin debate of 2003." Jesse muttered. "You know there's no winning that. What's the problem, Rachel? The audition isn't very formal, you can sing whatever you want. Sing Katy Perry for all I care. I would suggest vehemently against it, but it's your self-respect."

"Jesse."

"Rachel."

"Why did you hang up on me?"

He chuckled. "Because contrary to popular belief - primarily yours - my life does not revolve around making yours miserable. I _am_ in New York for a reason, Rachel. And before you ask, no, I'm not telling you what that reason is."

"You're going to tell me sometime."

"But not today."

Rachel grumbled.

"You called for a reason, I hope."

"Yes!" Rachel exclaimed, before subsequently hesitating.

"Rachel?"

"I need to go to Ohio."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Well..." Rachel hemmed. "Finn wants me there to tell the New Directions about Regionals."

Pause.

The silence on the other end of the line went on for so long that Rachel had to check that Jesse hadn't hung up on her. "Jesse?"

"You know I should be hanging up, right? That _is_ clear to you?"

Rachel pouted. "Yes."

Jesse sighed. "We've been over this, Rachel. I refuse to talk about high school show choir in the present tense."

"Jesse..."

"Why are we still talking about the New Directions?" Jesse asked warily.

"It's just that Regionals is coming up, and..." Rachel sighed. "Finn asked me to be there and help him tell them that they're not in competition anymore."

He took another lengthy pause, enough to make Rachel nervous and bite her lip as she waited for him to give his opinion and tell her what to do. "Look. I can't tell you what to do, you're a grown woman. Or, you're supposed to be, anyway. You can make your own decisions."

"But I need to talk about this."

"Talk to Kurt or Santana. Or Benny."

"I can't talk to them about this!" Rachel protested. She already knew their reactions: Brody would be hurt that she was going to Ohio and see Finn again, Kurt would encourage her and maybe even come along so they can commiserate about the New Directions' loss, and Santana... well, if this morning was any indication, would just spill with colorful language.

"This is exactly why I told you that you needed more friends." Jesse grumbled. "You have to know I can't be objective about this. You must understand that."

"Jesse, _please_." Did her tone wobble slightly? Yes. She knew she was playing dirty, utilizing her talent at crying on demand, and even though she knew he knew that, she couldn't help but try to appeal to his sympathy. She had no choice; she needed Jesse to act as a sounding board about this.

And when he sighed in apparent defeat, she couldn't even relish the victory because she _did_ know what it took for him just to even hear Finn's name. "Why do you need to go to Lima?"

Rachel glanced out the window. "Regionals is in two weeks and Finn needs to tell them they're not competing."

"And this has to do with you, how?" Jesse asked, his tone curious.

Rachel faltered. "I..."

"You're not co-captain. You're not the musical director. You told me that you weren't even in Lima for Sectionals. Why do you, quote, 'need' to go to Lima to talk to them?"

"But-"

"Do you even know the names of each member of the current group?" Jesse asked curiously. "Be honest, even if I'm telling you to be aware that if you do, I will scorn you for very obvious reasons."

Rachel paused. "I know _most_ of their names."

"So are you going because you care about them, because you care about Finn, or because you want to bask in the glory of Rachel Berry coming back to her roots?"

"That's not fair." Rachel frowned.

"You wanted to talk about it." Jesse said plainly.

"Finn can't do it alone."

"He's old enough to decide he can get married, he's old enough to tell a bunch of kids they're not in competition." Jesse replied sharply. "Tell him he's old enough to admit he made a mistake."

"He needs the support because they'll be disappointed."

"Then he shouldn't have lied to them."

"He didn't know."

"How do you get disqualified and think you're still in the running?" Jesse retorted speculatively. "Nobody's that stupid."

"He didn't understand the email."

"_Disqualified_, Rachel. What's to misunderstand?"

"I can help him explain."

"It's not your job, Rachel!" Jesse berated. "You have nothing to do with the New Directions anymore. And more to the point, he's a big boy. He screwed up, he should be able to face that. He can apologize for getting their hopes up. That's not your problem anymore. He wants help explaining it? If those kids were stupid enough to believe him after they got disqualified, tell him to drag the guidance counselor in to talk to them. Or, better yet, tell him to tell the actual musical director to help him. It's Will Schuester's fault for putting him in charge, they should be the ones to face the consequences of their actions."

Rachel was quickly realizing she really did not like Jesse St. James lecturing her.

"I mean it, Rachel. Why are you even thinking about this? New Directions was your glee club, once. But they're not anymore. You owe them nothing. You don't owe anyone anything and you certainly don't owe them you skipping out on your life in New York to hold an overgrown baby's hand while he admits he can't read one stupid email. Grow up."

"Why are you being so mean?"

"Why should I be anything else? What, did you really expect me to be supportive of your indecision?"

"I only said Finn asked me to-"

"The fact that you had to call me to ask about something Finn Hudson wants is enough reason for me to roll my eyes and start to wonder if you're really capable of being this insipid." Jesse snapped. "My advice? Tell Hudson to man up and do it himself, since he did a pretty good job getting himself into this mess in the first place. You owe him nothing. You owe _them_ nothing. You have your own life now. They screwed up. You don't have to."

"You're not being very fair." Rachel said quietly.

"Fair?" The scorn was palpable even through the electronic line. "Don't think I'm ignoring the fact that you actually considered skipping out to Lima the same weekend I have you scheduled to go to an audition. If you really believe these are your choices then you have a bigger problem than breathing techniques or your complacency with your talent and ability."

"What would you have me do, Jesse?" Rachel asked sharply. "It's so easy for you, isn't it, just moving on? It's not that easy and you shouldn't be forcing me to move on like that."

"You're unbelievable." Jesse shot back, exasperated. "Really, Rachel? You can say that to me?"

Rachel hesitated now, since she obviously had hit a nerve she hadn't expected. "I..."

"As if the fact that I still take your calls wasn't enough. That I even bothered to answer your text message is just..." Jesse sighed. "You know what? Do whatever you want. If you're not there tomorrow just forget about it. Don't call me about this again."

"Fine. You know what? Maybe I will." Rachel declared, and hung up. She took a deep breath, and took a moment to realize that her hands were shaking in what she could assume was anger. She dropped her phone into her bag, and clenched her hands into fists.

No, that wasn't a mentor berating his student. That was Jesse St. James revealing more than Rachel Berry could handle.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I want to start by once again thanking everyone who have read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story. I really appreciate it. To the reviewers: while I would love to respond to each one, I have learned in the past that I tend to over-share, and sometimes slip and tell where the story is going before I can censor myself, so I try to avoid that. But if you leave a question, I am unable to ignore a question (as long as it's not personal).

Without further ado.

* * *

It was a nice day, for February: the wind was crisp but not bitter, hardly any snowfall, and bright but not oppressive sunshine.

However, she was spending the lovely day indoors at an audition that Jesse hadn't even bothered to show up for, leaving her worried about her song selection and subsequent performance, but she supposed she'd had it coming, since she had hung up on him yesterday.

She had sent Jesse several text messages since hanging up on him, but he hadn't responded to any of them. Which she supposed she _maybe_ deserved, she _had_ hung up on him, despite the fact that he'd repeatedly warned her how he felt about the topic at hand and how he would likely react but she'd kept talking anyway.

It didn't make it easier, going into the audition process without his guidance and advice. Sure, she had gone through many auditions before without Jesse St. James, but he had been pointing out her strengths, as well as flaws in her performances, and seemed to know more than she did about song choices in a professional setting, and she really could have used his input.

Instead she'd had to go through dance auditions - thankfully rather basic, she had a feeling the casting committee were more concerned with ability to learn choreography than level of talent - and the long wait for the singing part on her own.

Well, his loss. She had been awesome.

"Miss Rachel Berry?" the dark-haired man in the center of the casting table asked out loud.

"Yes." Rachel nodded, smiling brightly even as she caught her breath after singing her heart out, waiting for his feedback.

"Thanks for coming."

_What?_

Rachel took a beat, and stared dumbly at the table, its occupants already discussing among themselves, ignoring her. She quickly turned on her heel, left the stage, and picked up her bag en route to the door leading back to the hallway.

So easily dismissed. _What I Did For Love_ should never be so easily dismissed; which meant it was her performance that hadn't impressed the casting group.

She kept her head down as she made her way to the door to get out of the auditorium; she was eager to get out of the building and get home where she could sulk (cry) in peace. Or, more likely, since she didn't have boundaries and neither did any of her roommates, in relative privacy. Or at least in her own space.

She was startled and jumped - there might have been a small shriek - when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders just as she reached the doors.

"You were great." Jesse assured her, holding her close.

"Not good enough." Rachel mumbled. She could start to question him on where the hell he had been and why was he only now informing her of his presence, but she was just so relieved that he was present to comfort her that she set that discussion aside for now.

"Rachel Berry not being good enough." Jesse commented dryly. "That'll be the day." He pushed the doors open and they walked out. "You were great. I promise."

"They told me to leave!" Rachel exclaimed.

"They told everyone the same thing." Jesse replied. He gave her a studying glance. "You never used to be so pessimistic."

"I never choked in an audition before." Rachel muttered.

Jesse narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't say anything.

"Miss Berry." A feminine voice said from behind them, and both Rachel and Jesse turned to face an older woman just emerging from the doors they had just walked out of. She smiled at Rachel. "A word, Miss Berry."

Rachel glanced at Jesse, who merely smiled at her as he lifted his arm from her shoulders. Without another word, she followed the woman to another door in the hallway, into a small and cramped office.

Inside, the woman leaned against the front of a messy desk, and smiled at Rachel, who had no option but to remain standing by the door. "I wasn't able to introduce myself earlier. I'm Paula, by the way."

Rachel hesitantly shook the offered hand. "Hi, Paula."

Paula smiled at her. "How was your audition?"

Trick question, since Rachel recognized her as the woman at the rightmost seat at the casting table earlier. "Could have been better, I suppose."

Paula chuckled. "Understandable."

Rachel frowned, not quite sure what the woman intended with this talk.

"Well, you're not what we're looking for."

_Way to be blunt, lady._ Rachel's frown deepened at the statement. She'd already gathered as much from the 'thanks for coming' she'd gotten earlier. See: planned sulking (crying).

"But you're very talented." Paula continued. "But there's certainly room for improvement in regards to what you can bring to the table."

_Room for improvement._ Everywhere she turned she only faced rooms for improvement. Rachel remained silent, but nodded solemnly.

"We have notes, if you have some time."

Rachel nodded, not sure what else she could say.

Paula glanced down at her notes. "How old are you, by the way?"

"I'm eighteen."

"Student? Working?"

"I'm studying at NYADA." Rachel answered honestly.

Paula glanced up at her. "NYADA."

Rachel nodded.

Paula shook her head, and Rachel was relieved to note there was a small amount of amusement on the other woman. "That's good. Well, our choreographer had notes - a lot of notes, actually - about your dancing."

Rachel looked down, since she already knew that dance was the weakest part in her performing abilities. She'd known it since she'd had to take second place in ballet at the age of ten, and had been repeatedly been reminded every time she'd had to concede dancing lead to Brittany, Santana, Quinn or even Tina in Glee Club. Having Cassandra July nag her into submission just beat that fact into her.

"He said you have commendable coordination, and remarkably light of foot," Paula read the notes she had been given earlier. "You're technically flawless and overall graceful, but you lack natural rhythm when performing planned choreography."

_What did that even mean._ Rachel was confused, and was sure it showed on her face and disposition.

"You count in your head when doing choreography," Paula explained. "It doesn't seem like natural movement for you."

Oh.

"You learn quickly, though, that's always an advantage." Paula added. "You just need to learn to let it flow more naturally."

Rachel looked up, and nodded. "I understand."

"Now, about your singing..."

_Something was wrong with her singing?!_

"Broadway classics are always nice, and _What I Did For Love_ is a nice song." Paula acknowledged. She paused, then, as if she became more cautious with her choice of words and didn't want to cut a career short by a wrong selection of words. "But the choice... and your performance, honestly... they were a little... overwrought."

_Overwrought?_

"You have a nice voice. Nobody can argue with that. But your facial expression makes you look like you're in a considerable amount of pain, and honestly, the tears were too much." Paula admitted. "We appreciated the emotional gravitas, your emotional accessibility to such a powerful song, but it was _too much_. It's a sad song, but you need your voice to sell it. Tears make it feel like emotional blackmail."

But she cried in plenty (all) of her solos. She wanted to protest, but instead she nodded. "I see."

"It's nothing of the make-or-break level, but you're going to have to be more cautious of how you and your performances come off to an audience," Paula continued. "And please start being more aware of what you sing at an audition; we sit through countless of auditions and the last thing you want is to come off as just another cookie-cutter bright-eyed wannabe ingénue who can sing Broadway."

Rachel felt the words of protest die on her tongue, because she knew - had always known - she was destined for success, but her entire existence in Lima had been that she _was_ a bright-eyed ingénue who can sing Broadway.

Paula looked at Rachel sternly. "You're very talented. But there are plenty of talented people in New York City. What we want to see is a performance that will make you stand out, and make us want to pay attention."

Rachel looked up at her. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You can start by paying more attention to the character sheet and the requirements on the audition announcement, because the only reason our choreographer let you through was because he thought you were too adorable for words - his words. The second part is to try building up a wider selection of audition pieces: both songs and monologues, because you want to stand out, not fall in line with everyone else. I mean," Paula laughed derisively, "you don't sing I Feel Pretty at an audition for West Side Story. That just asking to be kicked out."

Rachel began to truly understand why Juilliard and Tisch didn't allow their freshmen to go to professional auditions: if it wasn't for the repeated statement that she was talented, this would have been a really disheartening review.

Paula reached behind her and after she set aside several pieces of paper, she retrieved a calling card, and began to write down something at the back. "This is my email address, I want you to send me a copy of your CV as soon as possible, I think there's a summer program I can get you into." She handed the card to Rachel. "That's our website address, I want you to sign up for the newsletter, so you'll know when we have a casting call."

Rachel stared down at the card, stunned, since she hadn't gotten this much feedback during her failed audition for The Glass Menagerie last semester. She looked up. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Paula nodded. "We cast for a lot of shows, and you may not be right for this one, and I don't think you're really ready at the moment, but you have potential, Rachel Berry. I'd really rather not be one of those 12 publishers who said no to Harry Potter."

_Oh._ Rachel was still smiling when she was once again faced with Jesse St. James.

"Good feedback?" Jesse guessed as he looked up and closed the thick book he had been reading while he waited.

Rachel's smile faded into a puzzled frown. She didn't even know Jesse read anything that didn't come in script form. "What are you reading?"

"Doesn't matter." Jesse shook his head, putting his book into his bag. "Well? What did she say?"

Rachel beamed. "She compared me to Harry Potter!"

Jesse blinked. What?

She could read blank expressions pretty well (she had dated Finn Hudson on and off for three years), and she hastened to explain, which she did in excruciating detail. She explained - and analyzed - every word the casting assistant had told her and related it all to Jesse all the way to a nearby pizzeria, which Jesse had led her to while she had talked.

At the end of it all, she looked up to Jesse, who only smiled. She paused, and smiled hesitantly. "What?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "So you're Harry Potter now." Without further elaboration, he reached over and handed her a sheet of paper. "Here's the menu. Since you're apparently not vegan anymore, you should at least get to eat pizza properly."

"Kurt and I call for pizza all the time." Rachel protested, momentarily distracted because, well, he was talking about food and she was hungry: she'd only had a light salad for lunch prior to the auditions, and that was hours ago.

Jesse shook his head in amusement. "You're in New York and you're eating Domino's. That's just wrong."

Rachel lowered her gaze down to the menu, dampening down her disappointment that Jesse didn't have any opinions on what the casting agent had told her. Although she was admittedly used to it: she talked a lot, sometimes beyond the listening attention of the people around her, and definitely beyond the comprehension of a certain tall ex-quarterback ex-boyfriend.

Jesse grinned. "Well?"

"I don't know." Rachel admitted, scanning the menu. Almost everything sounded enticing.

"I'll order something I think you'll like," Jesse nodded. He dug into his bag, and handed her a book. "This is for you." He got up, and headed to the counter to place an order.

Rachel glanced down, and smiled at the cover of _Patti LuPone: A Memoir_. A book she already had, but the fact that Jesse, who had stronger ties to Bernadette Peters (by way of Stephen Sondheim), would even hold such a book meant a lot to her. She grinned, and idly opened the book to the front page.

She might have squealed a little.

It was a signed copy - okay, it was personalized to someone named Andy, but it was _signed_ - and Rachel giggled as she traced the signature with her fingers. She looked up when Jesse returned with a number and a tray of lemonade. He laughed softly when he noticed she was tracing the signature on the page. "I take it you accept my peace offering?"

"No." Rachel shut the book and glared at him. "Where were you this afternoon?"

"I was waiting for your audition," Jesse answered honestly.

"I was worried! I was nervous, and tense, and you weren't there!" Rachel pointed at him accusingly.

"It was a closed audition, do you know how early I had to be there just so that I could sneak in and sit in that unreasonably cold auditorium?" Jesse retorted. He took a sip of his lemonade. "Besides, that was one of my points about today: you can only depend on yourself when you go into these things. I wanted to see what song you would pick and how you'd do."

Rachel shook her head. "I needed you! I couldn't talk to Kurt, or Santana, or Brody because they would have questions and I couldn't bring them, and the only person I could talk to was you and you.. weren't... there!"

Jesse winced at the unnatural pitch that had gotten into Rachel's voice, but he recovered. "And you did pretty well, right? I mean, you said yourself that what's-her-face told you you had real potential and just needed to work on some things, particularly your audition pieces. And you did that. _You._ Nobody told you what to sing, what to do, or how to act. That was just you."

Rachel insisted on pouting petulantly.

"So, clearly, you didn't 'need' me. Or anyone, as it turns out." Jesse shrugged.

"You didn't know that." Rachel insisted.

"No," Jesse conceded. "But I know _you_. And Rachel Berry is a talent worth noting."

Rachel blushed, still not used to someone else having such confidence in her talent.

Jesse tilted his head, his eyes dancing with the boyish charm that she hadn't been able to say no to years ago. "Do you like my peace offering?"

"It's personalized for someone else." Rachel pouted.

"But it's signed!" Jesse pointed out.

"I have a signed napkin." Rachel countered.

Jesse paused, and grabbed the book. "Well, if you don't want it..."

"No!" Rachel grabbed the book back, but Jesse refused to relinquish his hold. "I want it."

"Are you sure, because I would hate it to go to someone who says one thing but turns around and actually doesn't really mean it for, what was it? A signed napkin."

"No. I like it. Signed book, hooray!" Rachel said urgently, with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"But you keep on making ridiculous protests." Jesse argued.

"I want it." Rachel insisted.

Their gazes met in a silent match of wills, before Jesse's lips turned up into a small smile. He released the book. "Well, it's not like I was going to keep it or give it to anyone else, anyway."

Rachel brushed off imaginary dust from the cover, smiling and preening at him. "Thank you, Jesse."

Jesse laughed, shaking his head, before he glanced down at the book on the table between them. "I wanted to give you something, for being pretty rude on the phone yesterday. I found the topic offensive and sensitive, but I didn't have to ignore your messages." He smiled wryly. "All fifteen of them."

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Rachel said softly.

Jesse glanced up at her, silently gauging the sincerity of her statement.

"I just... New Directions mean a lot to me. Some of them are my friends, and Glee Club helped me get to where I am now. I feel bad that maybe because they lost Sectionals some of them won't get the same opportunities I did."

Jesse's gaze went from calculating to sympathetic. He leaned forward, hands clasped, resting his elbows on the table. "Operative word being helped."

Rachel frowned. "I don't understand."

"You've been collecting awards and trophies in song and dance your whole life, Rachel. You would have gotten to New York, regardless of your glee club. Maybe Carmen Tibideaux only accepted you because of your performance at Nationals, but anyone who's seen any of your MySpace videos can tell you're very talented. You were well on your way to any performing arts conservatory." Jesse reminded. "You didn't - and don't - owe your glee club anything."

"I understand that. I do. But as I said, they're my friends. And they're going to need some guidance on what to do now: Now that they won't be going to Regionals, or Nationals."

"There are show choir invitationals going on all the time." Jesse shrugged. "Aural Intensity host one every year for all the teams that Vocal Adrenaline defeats en route to Nationals. Scouts go to that since it's not their fault they keep losing to my supremacy."

"Really?"

Jesse nodded.

"New Directions never got invited."

Jesse laughed. "Because they hate your guts."

Rachel gasped, affronted. "What!"

Jesse nodded matter-of-factly. "They do. Why invite a team with a powerhouse lead vocal and be defeated on their own turf?"

"That's... that's horrible!" Rachel declared.

Jesse shrugged. "I don't choose these things."

Rachel laughed. "Santana would say she's just keeping it real."

Jesse grinned. "Then I'm just keeping it real."

They both took a beat to let that sink in, and frowned accordingly.

"I'm never saying that again." Jesse decided.

"I know! Please, don't." Rachel agreed.

Before either of them could say anything more, their number was called. Jesse stood up when Rachel made no indication to do so. "You're so lucky I like you..." He muttered, turning to the counter to get their food.

Rachel grinned, and stashed her loot away into her bag. She waited until Jesse returned with their pizza slices.

"It's an eight-cheese," Jesse explained, setting the tray down. "I don't know how long you've been non-vegan, and I don't know what meats you eat, but if you're going to compromise the animals, we'll start with their milk."

It looked like goo. Rachel looked dubious, but cheese was cheese and one of the reasons why she couldn't just go back to being vegan, so she took a tentative bite.

Her first "real" New York pizza was undeniably better than Domino's, she could admit that much.

Jesse took a bite of his own slice, and chewed.

Rachel regarded him thoughtfully, and unable to control herself, blurted out: "Did you set that up?"

His chewing slowed until he swallowed and frowned at her. "Excuse me?"

"Did you set that up?" Rachel repeated. "The audition. I know you've been insistent on my gaining more independence and this sets that lesson up perfectly. And I would know what a set up looks like, my dads like to set up my life lessons in ways not unlike this."

Jesse chuckled, having previously encountered the Berry men and their immeasurable enthusiasm for their daughter. "No."

"No?"

"I wish I could, but I don't exactly have a bevy of casting agents or directors at my beck and call." Jesse admitted. "But I admit I'm flattered that you think I could set that whole thing up just to teach you a lesson."

"So you didn't..."

Jesse shook his head.

"Oh." Rachel leaned back. "Huh."

Jesse looked at her with pensive concern. "Are you OK?"

Rachel nodded. "I am. I just... I'm glad she was nice, because she said some not-very-nice things."

"I know." Jesse smiled at her with sympathy. He knew that some casting directors were blunt and just plain rude as if making candidates cry was part of their job description, and he had picked this casting agency because of their past productions and the positive feedback he'd heard about their approach to the casting process. He focused on the issue at hand. "What are you going to do with your dancing, Miss Twinkle Toes '02?"

Rachel paused, and began to giggle. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You meet a girl who won her first dancing competition at three months and their first singing competition five months later, you don't have a choice but to pay attention." Jesse imparted easily. He grinned at her. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What are you going to do about your dancing?" Jesse asked. "I mean, I'm no expert, but being told I dance like I'm counting in my head requires a certain amount of improvement and practice."

Rachel conceded that point. And paused as what he said registered. "That's... exactly what she said."

"I know. You told me." Jesse took a sip from his drink.

"No. I mean..." Rachel stared at him. "That's what she said. And you quoted it back to me."

"_I know._" Jesse reiterated, frowning at her, the bewildered look on his face expressing just how confused he was by her questioning.

Rachel grinned widely at him, pleased that he remembered, that he had actually _listened_. Brody tried, bless him, but he got distracted easily. And Finn... well, she was lucky if he paid attention at all, since she learned early on he tended to tune out five minutes into a conversation not revolving around him.

Jesse had asked a question. Focus. It was about dancing...?

"There's a girl in one of my classes who's really good. She's a sophomore, I think? Maybe I'll ask her for help."

Jesse tilted his head to the side. "And she's good?"

Rachel nodded. "Cassie July likes her."

"And that matters?" Jesse questioned. "You hated her."

"Yeah, she was horrible to me," Rachel demurred. "But she knew her dancing, and she really liked Claire."

"You think she'll help you?" Jesse asked.

Rachel shrugged. "Won't hurt to ask."

"You had to outsource your vocal practice," Jesse reminded.

Rachel smiled. "Yeah, but she's a _dancer_. She's not exactly competition."

Jesse conceded that point. "Very well." He didn't bother to mention that her supposed boyfriend was a _dancer_, too.

"And I've thought about what you said, about my goals from our lessons."

Jesse looked at her interestedly. "Really."

Rachel nodded and grinned at him. "I want to sing Bohemian Rhapsody."

Jesse's smile froze, because... well. That's a turn.

Rachel's eyes sparkled with mischief and her grin grew wider at his stunned expression. "Twist!"


	6. Chapter 6

NYADA had its celebrities, of course, like any other campus: while other schools had their jocks, their legacies, their BMOCs and HBICs, NYADA had students who have proven their talent, have shown their mettle, have exceeded expectations. They weren't necessarily popular, but it was imperative for their fellow students to know who they are, knowing these were the names that would soon be famous.

Rachel knew she was one of NYADA's so-called celebrities, thanks to the Winter Showcase. It put her on some kind of pedestal while also encouraging her classmates to thrive to usurp, if not upstage, her. She knew that if she admitted to anyone in her program that one of their professors told her she had room for improvement on her fundamentals, the sharks would come circling.

She was NYADA-popular, but she hadn't been lying, when she'd told Jesse that she didn't really have friends in NYADA. She had friendly acquaintances, some of whom she readily admitted gravitated towards her only after she'd won the Winter Showcase. But there were some people who she was truly friendly with, people she could sit with if she needed to in the library or cafeteria, but nobody she really got to hang out with.

It wasn't their fault, really. She was just used to doing things on her own, and having Kurt around was enough companionship for her. And she was dating Brody, and he certainly didn't have any kind of lack for friends. If things were truly dire, she could always force Santana to hang out with her.

But while Rachel was now known for having won the Winter Showcase, there were others who were known primarily for being on the standard upon which others were compared. NYADA, after all, had a smaller student population than Juilliard or Tisch or any other performing arts conservatories, so it was easy to pinpoint who were their future stars.

Claire Beaumont was one of the school's standard bearers. Claire was a sophomore, and one of NYADA's celebrities because everyone knew she had been wooed by every school from Joffrey to the American School of Ballet but had chosen the dance program of NYADA. She was only a sophomore, but ever since Cassandra July set eyes on her, had used her as the model and standard for all her students.

But that was all people knew about the dark-haired sophomore. She was friendly enough, but apparently nobody really socialized with her, all her free time dedicated to dance training.

It was... disconcerting. After all, the girl had chosen the less-intensive dance program of NYADA over Joffrey and even Juilliard, so why put all that effort into additional training?

But, no matter. Rachel knew Claire had an extensive background in dance and was widely touted to be one of the best in their school, and Rachel was determined to get the girl to agree to teaching her. And since Jesse had been enthused by her choice to start additional dance lessons, she had decided to approach the sophomore and broach the topic of lessons before she had to meet Jesse again.

Luckily, Jesse was busy with his unnamed task in New York until Wednesday, which meant she had some time. It also meant she had to record three videos, and she still grinned to herself when she thought of Jesse's wary sigh when she'd told him she would be posting the videos on her MySpace site. He can grumble all he wanted, but he was the one who said to surprise him.

In any case, Rachel had decided to approach Claire today, and after some queries, got a response on exactly where the girl could be found.

Proving everyone right, Rachel found the dancer in one of the school's smaller dance studios. The tall dancer was dressed in form-fitting jeans and a shirt, her casual outfit contradicting the formality of her dance form. Instead of announcing her presence right away, Rachel watched from the doorway.

She had been in dance lessons from the age of three, ballet since she was five. She had watched Mike Chang and Brittany Pierce dance in glee and onstage; Yet she has never seen anyone dance with as much grace as Claire Beaumont. It was fluid, flawless. Her training was obvious, her posture and form could only have come from years of formal ballet lessons.

Mike and Brittany had been riveting to watch, too, but Claire moved in a way that Rachel could only envy.

The older girl abruptly stopped, and spoke over her shoulder. "It's impolite to stare."

"Sorry." Rachel said sheepishly, stepping into the room. "I couldn't help but admire your form. You're very graceful. But you probably knew that, and hear it all the time..."

Claire glanced at her. "Are you here for a reason or just to heap praise, because honestly I can pick anyone in the hallway to tell me how good I am."

Rachel clacked her mouth shut, aware of the truth behind the tall girl's statement.

"Reason for being here." Claire reminded. She paused, taking notice of Rachel, and subsequently queried, "who are you?"

"Oh!" Rachel startled, and stepped forward, hand outstretched. "My name is Rachel Berry. I'm a freshman."

"The freshman who won the Winter Showcase?" Claire asked, shaking the offered hand.

Rachel nodded, and smiled tremulously at the taller girl. "You know who I am?"

"All NYADA students are kind of forced to attend the Showcase." Claire reminded. She leaned her long body against the ballet bars. "It's not often a freshman wins first prize."

"It's to my understanding that freshmen aren't regularly invited to take part in the Winter Showcase," Rachel defended hotly. She paused, then deflated as she rolled her eyes in self-deprecation upon realizing who she was talking to. "And, of course, I bet _you_ were invited during _your_ freshman year..."

Claire had to smile in amusement, but concurred. "I was stupid, I danced ballet to electronic pop instead of classical music. The judges were not impressed."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I figured, what's the point of being touted as being one of the best if you're not going to do your own thing anyway?" Claire shrugged. "I'm Claire Beaumont."

"I know." Rachel replied, before realizing her social faux pas and added, "You have a lovely name."

"Thanks." Claire replied. "What can I do for you, Rachel Berry?"

Rachel gave her a broad smile. "I have a proposition for you."

Claire glanced at her, and gave her a once-over. A small smile played on her lips. "Maybe. But you'll have to buy me dinner first."

Rachel faltered, her smile fading. "I'm sorry?"

Claire gave her a casual shrug. "My boyfriend would probably have an opinion, but he really doesn't get to have a say in what I do. Saturday?"

"What?" Rachel stammered out, unsure of when exactly the conversation made an abrupt turn. "No! I mean, you're pretty and I'm sure your dancing abilities have made you remarkable in - No!"

The taller girl watched her with interest and amusement. "You're blushing."

"It's not that kind of proposition!"

"Doesn't mean it can't be."

"Are you seriously coming on to me?" Rachel demanded.

Claire laughed, and shook her head. "That's too easy. You were saying?"

The _audacity_. Sure, the girl was incredibly tall and lithe and possessed the grace and poise of a trained ballerina. And, yes, her long dark hair was unreasonably soft-looking and shiny, even when it was placed in a tight bun. Not to mention Claire Beaumont, up close, was even prettier than Rachel had anticipated: she had blue-grey eyes and facial features to rival any Old Hollywood screen actress. Claire was the kind of beautiful that was usually reserved for the snobby elite, but she was able to control how she was perceived mainly through her body language.

Rachel had encountered far scarier and intimidating beautiful people (i.e., Quinn Fabray), and she was not about to back down from this... _dancer_, no matter how undeniably talented Claire was.

"I will have you know I'm dating Brody Weston." Rachel informed the taller girl.

Claire made a face to physically express her disdain for the aforementioned individual. "That vapid tool?"

"He's not a tool!" Rachel cried defensively.

"But you agree he's vapid."

Rachel stared at her for a beat, before straightening up and gathering her composure. "I don't have to put up with this."

"Hey, you crashed my rehearsal." Claire reminded, sauntering up to her bag and retrieving a bottle of water from within. "But, fine. Truce. What did you want?"

Rachel was reluctant, since apparently there was a reason nobody socialized with this girl: Her humor was cruel. "I was wondering if I could ask you for dance lessons."

Claire smiled with amusement. "Not a fan of Ms. July?"

"Not so much."

"That's honest." Claire estimated, her amusement evident in the smile that played on her lips. "Explain."

"I believe that I could improve my dance abilities with additional training." Rachel explained.

"There's no shortage of teachers in this school." Claire reminded. "Not to mention the number of dance studios in the City."

"Yes," Rachel concurred. "But I need to learn at performance level, and most studios don't offer a variety of styles. They'll touch ballroom, but _just_ ballroom. Or they'll have a variety, but only go from basic to intermediate."

"True," Claire allowed, "but you realize that I'm a student."

"I realize that," Rachel agreed. "But I need to be able to compare myself to a peer - not that we're peers in any way related to skill level, but more in terms of age group and as a fellow student - before I sign up for more professional lessons."

"Fair enough," Claire conceded that point.

"I mean," Rachel continued, "I know I could go to a professional studio, but I can't afford it _and_ pay rent."

At that last statement, Claire narrowed her eyes at her, analytical. "You know freshmen are encouraged to stay in the dorms, right?"

Rachel could only shake her head, unable to put to words how awful her dorm experience had been.

"The coed baths, or bad roommate?" Claire guessed.

"Everything." Rachel grumbled.

Claire smiled. "Well, my freshman roommate dropped out two weeks into the program. Good times."

Rachel frowned at her, because the girl was actually talking about someone giving up on their dreams.

Claire noticed the silence and the frown on Rachel's face. "Oh, don't worry: she transferred to some dance institute, or something."

Even as Rachel exhaled at the reassurance, Claire continued. "I had to check it out, I mean, I was her roommate, and I've seen enough Law & Order to know I should have answers on her whereabouts."

Rachel was beginning to wonder if improving her dance abilities was worth the trouble of continued exposure to Claire Beaumont.

Although... now that Rachel thought about it, she hasn't seen or heard from Audrey since the new semester started.

Rachel's reverie was interrupted when Claire suddenly clapped her hands together and mused aloud, "Well, hypothetically, since sex is off the table, if I agree to teach you, what's in it for me?"

Oh. _Well..._ Rachel stalled. Jesse had taken her up on her request for free, so she hadn't considered any kind of remuneration for the sophomore.

Claire arched an eyebrow at the silence, before rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Favor bank of a select number of favors to be cashed in at a later date." She offered.

"Five."

Claire shot her a disparaging look. "Ten."

Rachel grumbled. "In observance of all standing legal responsibilities?"

"State and federal." Claire nodded. "Done."

Rachel beamed. "Great!"

Claire scoffed. "Your enthusiasm is remarkable. Misguided, but remarkable."

Rachel ignored the jibe, more than used to it after her entire high school experience. "When can we start?"

Claire shook her head, to which Rachel frowned.

"What?" Rachel asked.

Claire studied her. "I want you to write up your entire dance background, including your instructors. And... you're not in any of Ms. July's classes this semester, are you?"

"No."

Claire smirked. "You realize you probably proved her right."

"She made Dance 101 miserable!" Rachel argued.

Claire shrugged, but didn't expound on her assertion. "Give me your schedule for 102. I need to see your skill level to see what we have to work with."

Rachel nodded eagerly.

"I should warn you now, Rachel Berry, but I've never taught anyone before. The closest I got was my understudy, but that doesn't really count since I don't skip a performance - and didn't - and we both knew it." Claire warned. "I'm going to expect a certain level of dedication from you, and I'd hate it if I start getting Bambi eyes from you for something I can't control."

"I'm in this," Rachel promised. "But we'll have to work out a schedule, since I also already have singing lessons."

Claire nodded. "I'm taking extra lessons myself, so that works for me."

"Oh?" Rachel asked curiously. "What lessons?"

Claire laughed. "Tap, if you can imagine."

Rachel gaped, because she had not seen that coming. "You're taking tap dancing classes?"

Claire nodded. "I had to give it up before. I thought now would be a good time to start catching up on other styles I had to give up."

"Is that why you chose NYADA?" Rachel asked.

Claire laughed. "Partly."

"What are the other parts?" Rachel pressed, because nobody who knew her would ever accuse her of not being a curious person.

Claire glanced at her, and smiled wryly. "I don't think I know you well enough to tell you something that important, Rachel Berry."

Rachel conceded that point.

Claire turned back to her bag and pulled out a notebook. She ripped out a page and wrote down something. She handed it to Rachel. "This is my number. Send me your next 102 class, we'll talk then."

Rachel took the piece of paper. "Thank you."

Claire nodded, and picked up her bag. "I have a class in ten. I'll see you around, Rachel Berry."

"You can just call me Rachel." Rachel told her.

Claire paused on her way to the door, and turned to smile knowingly at Rachel. "Calling you by your first name implies we're friends, Rachel Berry. And familiarity breeds contempt. We can save that for when we actually start lessons."

Rachel watched her leave the room, pensive. Despite her first (and second) impression of the girl, she could admit that Claire Beaumont intrigued her. She knew that Claire had to be from a non-big city hometown, otherwise she would already be a professional performer, and not studying at a performing arts college. But she approached everything as a professional, her parting shot was a clear indicator of that.

Well, Claire was going to help her with her dancing, that's all. It's not like they had to be friends for that to happen.

Even though the part of Rachel that had desperately wanted the friendship of the head cheerleader in high school was the same part that made Rachel determined that she would befriend Claire Beaumont, even if it seemed like an impossible wall to scale.

Rachel pulled out her cellphone to type in Claire's number, and saw she had unread messages and missed calls. She checked it.

Brody. Two missed calls, two texts.

And Finn. Five texts.

She opened the first of Finn's texts, and saw it was asking if she was coming to Ohio ("wt shud i tl ND?"). She deleted the rest, not bothering to read them. She already knew what the rest of them would probably say, and she didn't want her good mood spoiled by Finn asking her about New Directions, which she couldn't begin to know how to approach (although she made a mental note to talk to Tina later about her options), or worse, if Finn would start accusing her of being selfish by staying in New York.

Brody's message...

_We stl mtg for lunch?_

Rachel froze. Shit. Shit shit. She _was_ supposed to have met Brody for a late lunch date.

Rachel glanced at the time and winced when she saw it was past Brody's lunch break and just a few more minutes before she had to go to her own class.

Rain check it was.

After typing her response to Brody, Rachel glanced around the empty dance studio.

Now, the important issue: What song to record for tonight's MySpace video.


	7. Chapter 7

Jesse was working on the piano, making notations on a piece of sheet music in front of him, when Rachel entered the studio.

She had been having a great day - it was Valentine's Day, after all - and Rachel smiled brightly at the curly-haired boy at the piano as she joined him in the room. She playfully ruffled his hair, which she suddenly noticed was growing out of its Tyrone Power cut. "Hi, Jesse!"

He glanced at her, took note of her vibrant mood, and smiled back. "You're in a chipper mood."

"It's Valentine's Day!"

"Of course it is." Jesse handed her some sheet music, and turned back to the piece he was working on.

Rachel glanced down at the music in her hands. _Maggie May._ She read the first line before she declared, "I don't know this song."

"It's Rod Stewart, I can't say I'm surprised." Jesse replied. He folded up the music he had been working on, and tucked it into his bag.

"What were you working on?" Rachel queried, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the room.

"It's nothing," Jesse shook his head as he dismissed her query. He smiled as he turned to look at her, the smile a cunning diversion from the cutting words he said next. "Your song choices on your videos left much to be desired."

"I diversified." Rachel denied.

"True," Jesse acknowledged, "but they all fell under the realm of pop-rock, and I thought I made it clear that I don't want you wasting your time on sub-par arrangements."

"Just be grateful it wasn't Katy Perry." Rachel reminded, which they both couldn't help but smile about.

Jesse laughed. "Rachel, your voice is spectacular. It's tear-down-the-rafters good. But you can't keep singing songs that don't help you."

Rachel gave a soft sigh of disagreement, but imagined that he probably had a point.

Once he was sure that Rachel wasn't going to start ranting and raving about how she was totally capable of making her own song selection - which he had no doubt that she could, he just hadn't been impressed with her choices: her songs from three years ago were far more impressive than the past three days' worth of pop songs - Jesse declared, "I have homework for you."

"More than this?" Rachel asked warily, holding up the music he had given her. Suddenly she wasn't so enthused about seeing him again, if he was just going to keep giving her work.

Jesse nodded. "It's Bo Rhap-related."

"Oh?" Rachel asked, slightly more interested.

"I have some questions." Jesse had been a little surprised (shocked) when Rachel had told him of her goal for their sessions last Saturday, and he hadn't been able to form a coherent train of thought related to it afterwards, opting instead to change the subject while he gathered his thoughts.

His thoughts had gathered the day after, when he realized he had questions regarding the song choice: Did Rachel know it was beyond her normal abilities? Did she know she couldn't belt Bohemian Rhapsody out? Did Rachel intend to sing it to somebody in particular? Did she want to sing it as a response to his performance at Regionals three years ago? He wasn't even sure if she understood the value of Bohemian Rhapsody: the old Rachel he knew, probably, but this version sang a Christmas hymn at NYADA's Winter Showcase so all bets were off.

Bohemian Rhapsody was not an easy song to sing. It's big, it's grand, it's epic in every sense of the word. People don't simply choose to sing Bohemian Rhapsody, they _earned_ the right to do so. It went from ballad to rock to opera, and there were many ways to screw it up and very few ways to get right. Rearranging Bohemian Rhapsody to suit Rachel's normal strengths was out of the question, and he suspected that the reason she wanted to sing was exactly because it was not within her usual range. She was talented enough, if she really wanted to accomplish the task. And Jesse was determined to shove her out of her complacency, making Bohemian Rhapsody a good place to start.

Her background in Queen was a little (a lot) lacking, however. He'd seen the video of her Glee Club's performance of Somebody to Love, and he found it adequate, if he discounted the fact that it was a Queen song. It was not as easy to forgive or overlook in the case of Bohemian Rhapsody.

"Let's start by making the mutual agreement that you can't sing Queen." Jesse began.

Rachel straightened. "I will do no such thing!"

"Rachel."

"I will have you know that New Directions sang We Are The Champions perfectly well." Rachel said defensively.

Jesse shook his head. "No."

"No?" Rachel repeated incredulously.

Jesse nodded. "No."

"You weren't there."

"I don't have to be." Jesse replied. "That's your first mistake: _nobody_ sings Queen well."

Rachel frowned, as this was a foreign concept to her: not sing something well? What was the point? And what did Jesse even mean, his rendition with Vocal Adrenaline had been wonderful.

"No." Jesse's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Whatever it is you're thinking. Accept that basic fact first: nobody sings Queen well. They can sing it, and it might even sound good, but only _Queen_ can sing Queen. Only Freddie Mercury can sing Queen. Others can perform it _well_, but it's only a fraction of what the original can accomplish."

"But-"

"No, Rachel, New Directions can't sing Queen." Jesse corrected her unfinished assumption.

"I think we've done OK," Rachel countered. "Somebody to Love was a crowd-pleaser."

Jesse shook his head. "You turned a song questioning love and God into a saccharine pop song. No."

Rachel's frown got more pronounced. "Another One Bites The Dust?"

Jesse smiled, because she got him to his next point without forcing a suitable segue. "Songs tell a story. And unless you understand the story, you can't sing a song properly, no matter what Will Schuester likes to tell his students otherwise."

"What story did you want to tell with your one-two punch of Queen songs?" Rachel asked bluntly.

Jesse's smile grew wan. "That's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it."

Jesse took a deep breath, and exhaled. "And I'll tell you. Someday. But you told me yesterday you have plans for tonight and I also have somewhere else to be, so we can't delay."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Jesse swore.

Rachel studied his face for a moment, gauging his sincerity, before she nodded. "I'm holding you to that."

Jesse nodded.

Rachel glanced down briefly, and held up her music. "Why this song?"

"I want you to sing it."

"I figured as much, but why?"

Jesse shrugged. "Because you can't pull off Janis Joplin."

"What does that have to do with..."

"You want to sing Queen, you need to learn vocal complexities." Jesse explained. "I already know you can sing Funny Girl, but one of our new goals is to ensure you can sing more than just Broadway. And classic rock, when done correctly, is just as grand and epic as any show stopper."

"And your answer to that is _Rod Stewart_?" Rachel asked incredulously.

Jesse laughed. "Says the girl that thinks Bon Jovi qualifies as hard rock."

Rachel hesitated. "He isn't?"

"Bon Jovi is a band. _Jon Bon Jovi_ is the well-coiffed front man of said band. Neither are acceptable examples of rock." Jesse explained.

"Finn said they're good."

Jesse scoffed so hard he imagined he cleared out his respiratory system. "He also thinks he can sing" - and is worthy of being with Rachel Berry - "and I assure you: he is very wrong."

"I don't know why you insist on attacking his vocal abilities: he did a good job in Paradise by the Dashboard Light."

He could have sworn his eyes rolled so hard they just rolled back into place. "You pretty much just insulted everyone capable of singing by describing that grating noise as a good job."

"Jesse, stop."

"If you want me to stop insulting your precious giant troll, you can stop bringing him up." Jesse instructed.

"Fine!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Fine." Jesse enunciated, his tone declaring the matter closed. Of course, they both knew it was only going to be a matter of time, since Rachel's life still seemed to be entwined with he-who-must-not-be-named, and Jesse found invoking _his_ name to be the easiest way to bait Rachel.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rachel queried, after a moment.

"You can ask," Jesse acquiesced.

"Did you always believe in all that you just said, about Queen and music?" Rachel asked.

"Yes." Jesse nodded. "I believe that music needs to be understood before you can try performing it yourself. You either understand it, or you feel it; better if you can accomplish both."

"And that's how you felt about Bohemian Rhapsody?" Rachel asked.

Jesse smiled wryly. "That performance is what it is because of how I felt about Bohemian Rhapsody."

"Does it compare to Queen?" Rachel pressed.

"Rachel." Jesse paused, before he continued. "One can only _aspire_ to be a fraction of how good Queen can deliver a song. Regionals, three years ago? We aspired."

"I don't understand."

"I know." Jesse smiled at her. "That's why we have to study the rock classics and study Bohemian Rhapsody before you try."

Rachel contemplated that point, and nodded, figuring Jesse probably _did_ have a better understanding and reason for the approach. "Is that what Shelby told you to convince you to sing Bohemian Rhapsody?"

Jesse scoffed lightly at the mention of his former show choir director. "Shelby doesn't _convince_ anyone to do anything. She says it, you do it." He turned and retrieved his iPod from his bag. After a while, once he had found Maggie May on his player, he handed it to Rachel. "Listen."

Rachel took the device, and after putting in the earbuds, pressed play.

Their session was shorter than usual, but one hour later Rachel felt like her vocal cords needed a break, since the song went against what she knew about singing. The upside was that when he wanted her to sing a certain way, Jesse sang the line himself to demonstrate, and hearing Jesse St. James was always a good thing. (Except for Another One Bites the Dust: That was not pleasant at all, although Rachel _did_ appreciate the theatricality of being broken up with through song.)

Rachel stuck the sheet music in her bag, and drank from a bottle of water while she waited for Jesse to finish packing. "Do you have plans for Valentine's Day?"

"I have plans for tonight," Jesse answered, his attention to packing his things disallowing him from seeing Rachel's disappointment at that piece of information. "Yourself?"

"Brody's picking me up from the loft later." Rachel told him.

"That's nice." Jesse noted. "By the way, have you and that girl in your dance class finalize on a schedule?"

Rachel had told him about Claire Beaumont the previous night via text message, and had even forwarded him a copy of her dance background before she printed it out to give to Claire. She hadn't seen the dancer at all today, but they had agreed to meet at Rachel's Dance 102 class the next day. "She wants to see how much help I need before she commits to a schedule."

"How many people who got accepted to Joffrey choose NYADA?" Jesse wondered aloud, picking up his bag. "I mean, I understand why you chose NYADA instead of applying to Tisch or Juilliard, but NYADA's not the dance institute the Joffrey is."

"She wouldn't tell me," Rachel admitted, smiling gratefully when Jesse took her bag. "But which would you pick?"

Jesse laughed. "Senior year high school me, or present-day me?"

"Present day."

"I'd go to Tisch." Jesse admitted. "It has a film department that you can mess around with, so you get to have options."

"And what about high school you?" Rachel asked.

Jesse grinned. "I went to UCLA for a reason, Rachel. It was not academic."

Rachel smiled back. "Maybe if you'd gone to a performing arts conservatory you wouldn't have flunked your academic classes."

"Well, I know that now," Jesse quipped. Once they were out on the street, he turned to her. "Do you mind if we stop by somewhere first? I have to pick something up."

"Sure." Rachel nodded easily. She wasn't in any hurry, and she'd missed talking to Jesse these past four days. She had been tempted to call him last night to talk about Claire, but Kurt and Santana were already on her case because Finn had started texting Kurt when she hadn't answered his messages, and Brody had called their landline phone in case Rachel hadn't gotten his messages, much to Santana's annoyance. They both knew she and her dads had a Sunday night phone check, and that her NYADA acquaintances called _her_ and not the other way around, so she'd had to stave off the temptation. This was a nice reprieve.

"Which reminds me," Jesse said suddenly, interrupting Rachel's thoughts. "What are you doing next Friday?"

"Nothing, I think." Rachel admitted. "Why?"

"There's a screening of a recording of Julie Andrews in My Fair Lady, I was wondering if you'd like to go." Jesse told her.

Rachel smiled. "You and Julie Andrews..."

Jesse grinned back, acquiescing to her point of his appreciation for the famed actress. "Well?"

"Like on a date?"

Jesse's smile faded, and replaced with a confused frown. "Aren't you dating that guy, the dancer?"

Rachel paused, and glanced at him. "Well, yeah, but it's an open relationship. It's OK."

Jesse took a beat. "You're in an open relationship."

Rachel nodded.

"No," Jesse shook his head with dull incredulity. "_You_. In an open relationship. Really?"

"I can be sexually liberated." She said defensively.

"That's not the problem." Jesse replied. He let out a scoff of bemusement. "The girl who never learned to share is suddenly agreeing to an open relationship. That's just..." He shook his head.

"What?" Rachel demanded.

"Nothing." Jesse intoned. "I just find it hard to imagine, that's all. But, whatever floats your boat, I guess."

"We weren't ready for a serious relationship." Rachel explained. "With my history, and commitment scares him after this thing with his ex-girlfriend..."

"Rachel, you don't need to explain." Jesse assured her. "I'm not judging you. I just didn't ever imagine you'd be in one. That's on me."

"Oh. Okay." Rachel relented.

"But to answer your question, no. It won't be a date. I just thought since you're so critical of Audrey Hepburn's version because she didn't sing, you would like to see how Julie Andrews would've done it."

"I don't know what next Friday will be like." Rachel admitted. "Remind me next week."

"Sure." Jesse nodded. He motioned to the shop to their left. "Here."

Rachel turned, and smiled when she saw where they had stopped. "It's a flower shop."

"How can you tell?" Jesse asked dryly, although his sarcasm lost most of its edge considering the shop was almost empty, save for a few non-flowering plants and some last few blooms in their steel buckets. He made his way to the counter, and spoke with the owner.

Rachel trailed after him. "You should know better than to try and get flowers this late in the day, Jesse. It's Valentine's Day: everyone's buying flowers."

"I _do_ know better." Jesse said simply, as the shop owner returned to the counter with a bouquet of red roses. He had called in a reservation the previous day to ensure he got what he wanted. He examined the flowers, checked his phone, and requested for an extra rose. Once it was added to the bouquet, Jesse nodded his approval as he pulled out his wallet. He looked up at the owner. "Oh, I ordered another one...?"

Rachel studied the dozen (plus one) long-stemmed red roses, and marvelled at the beauty of it. She had gotten elaborate bouquets before, in the past: growing up with two gay men as fathers meant growing up with an appreciation for flower arrangements, and her Daddy was friends with one of the local florists so they always had beautiful flowers on special occasions. She had often dreamed of receiving a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, especially after a stellar onstage performance, but those things weren't cheap, and Finn wasn't exactly rich.

"Here."

Rachel blinked, and looked up to see Jesse holding out to her a bouquet of roses. She counted: one dozen. Long-stemmed.

Pink and white blooms.

She looked up at Jesse, confused. _Pink and white?_ She couldn't help but allow her gaze to flicker to the blood-red roses on the counter top.

Hesitantly, and with plenty of reluctance, she took the offered bouquet. "Thanks."

"You didn't think I'd forget, did you?" Jesse gave her an easy smile. He had obviously finished his transaction, and picked up the red roses as they turned to leave.

Rachel dumbly followed him back out to the street, hardly paying attention to where she was going as her thoughts were still on the two different flower bouquets.

It... hurt. She could be honest, if only to herself: it hurt to realize that Jesse had plans for Valentine's Day, with someone else, and _that_ person got to receive a dozen (plus one) red roses from Jesse St. James.

Yes, she had her own plans for Valentine's, and Brody was a sweet guy, but much like Finn, he couldn't afford a dozen red roses, especially on Valentine's Day, when prices for flowers indubitably went up.

And Jesse had bought said flowers while he was with her, and gave her the decidedly less romantic pink-and-white flower arrangement...

Rachel glanced beside her, at the confident young man, and realized that there was a distinct possibility (obvious fact) that he had moved on. He attacked Finn, and made fun of Brody, but he recognized the fact that they existed, and in Brody's case, she was dating him. Jesse recognized and accepted that Rachel was dating somebody else.

So what was all of this, then?

Had she been friend-zoned? Never mind that she hated that term, but had she? Had their recent string of interactions tipped him off that she didn't strike him as a romantic interest anymore? Did he now find her lacking, in any way?

Rachel glanced at her roses. Pink meant friendship, right? And white was purity and innocence?

Oh God. Had he been trying to tell her something by making her sing Maggie May?

"Rachel."

Rachel, startled, looked up at Jesse, who had spoken. "What?"

Jesse motioned with his head, indicating the subway station.

"Oh." Rachel smiled sheepishly, and took her bag from him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Jesse replied. "Have a good night, Rachel."

"You too." Rachel assented. "Happy Valentine's Day, Jesse."

Jesse grinned, and waved her off.

And to top it all off she now had to come up with an explanation on why she had a bouquet of flowers not from Brody.


	8. Chapter 8

She wasn't sure what Kurt or Santana's plans were for Valentine's Day dinner, but Rachel was willing to forfeit dinner with Brody as long as she could have a few hours to contemplate what had happened before she got on the subway heading home.

More importantly, to get rid of the feeling that Brody was a poor second choice since, apparently, she couldn't have Jesse St. James.

And that wasn't fair, since Jesse had never led her on to believe he had any romantic motives in participating in their vocal lessons, and even though he mocked Finn and avoided remembering Brody's name, he never really spoke of them with any kind of jealousy. Well... she couldn't be sure, since she knew Jesse hated Finn with complete disdain independent of their rivalry for Rachel's affections.

And Brody certainly didn't deserve to be thought of as second choice, since he was a nice guy and had been the first person to really be there for her in New York. He had already patiently gone through this with her regarding Finn at the start of their relationship, did she really want to rehash that old drama for a guy that was out on a date with some other girl right now, a girl who apparently deserved to get a dozen (plus one) long-stemmed red roses?

In fact, what the heck (because part of her Jewish faith was not believing in hell) was the deal with getting 13 red roses? That meant friendship. She would know, she had come up with her ideal flower arrangement at the age of ten after she was introduced to the magical world of flower meanings. Maybe it was mean and evil, but a part of her wished the girl Jesse was going to give the flowers to knew that and verbally beat him down for his ignorance.

Rachel glanced down at the bouquet of flowers in her hand, and, _okay_, it wasn't the most pathetic thing in the world. Most girls would probably kill to be the recipient of such beautiful flowers. So what if Jesse had gotten another girl a more traditional bouquet? She'd gotten flowers, too. And pink meant friendship, and she knew she was lucky to have a friend like Jesse, who was willing to put up with her eccentricities and ambition without making it seem like such a heavy burden. After all, Jesse had been back in her life for only about a week now, and already she felt the impact he had, from her singing to her confidence. She loved Kurt, she did, but he'd had no problem setting her up as competition for Midnight Madness. Jesse would never have done that to her: in fact, he seemed happiest when he got to hear her sing (he can complain all he wanted about her song choices, he wasn't fooling anyone).

Enough. Brody. Think about Brody.

_And what you're going to tell Brody about your roses._ Her inner voice said mockingly.

But figuring out what to tell Brody about the flowers wasn't the major problem, if she were honest. The bigger problem was evading Kurt and Santana from learning where the flowers had come from. After all, McKinley's gay mafia had startlingly alarming methods of getting information they wanted (especially Santana and all her free time) so she really couldn't put it past them to dig the information up. The fact that the bouquet was wrapped in paper with the flower shop's name on it was kind of a dead giveaway.

Rachel walked up to her apartment building, but not before she paused by the garbage bin just beside the front steps. She glanced at the flowers.

It would be easier to not have them around. Kurt and Santana won't have anything to question, she wouldn't have to lie to Brody, she wouldn't have to look at anything and be reminded that Jesse St. James gave her a bouquet of _pink and white_ roses but bought another girl red roses.

But she'd never been the girl who chose the easy way. Not when she could have toned down her enthusiasm, her ambition, or her intent to be heard in middle school and high school. Not when applying to multiple colleges while waiting for feedback from NYADA.

Not when admitting that she'd been too scared of not having anything to show for her entire life led her to accepting a high school wedding proposal.

"Nice flowers." Kurt observed, the moment Rachel entered their apartment.

"Berry, I swear to God if you bought yourself flowers to make yourself feel better about being torn up about having feelings for Tub O'Lard and dating a man-bot, I'm gonna have to kick you." Santana told her from her place on the couch.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "A friend gave them to me."

"Extravagant friend," Kurt commented.

Rachel could only shrug.

"Hold on." Santana said, suddenly standing up and making a beeline for Rachel and the bouquet. "So you got flowers from some other guy that isn't Manwhore 2000?"

"Santana..."

"Must you, with the nicknames?" Kurt asked warily. "I thought Brittany made you throw out your notebook."

"It's a gift." Santana replied simply. "A gift that must be shared with the world."

Kurt shook his head, and turned back to Rachel. "I don't know about you, but if I were a guy..."

Santana coughed to mask her snort of laughter.

Kurt shot her a glare and qualified his term, "A straight guy, with a girlfriend, and said girlfriend showed up on Valentine's Day with flowers from someone else? I'd be pretty upset." He shrugged. "Especially since we all know how expensive roses are this time of year."

"Yeah..." Santana placed her hands on Rachel's shoulders and gave her a grave look. "Don't sex him up just to avoid questions about the flowers."

"Santana!" Both Kurt and Rachel cried in protest.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Bitches, please. We all know Tiny here uses physical affection to avoid deep meaningful conversation." Santana shot Rachel a pointed look. "Which explains why you and Hudson did nothing but make out senior year, since I bet you can't carry a decent conversation with Dough Boy."

"That's my brother." Kurt objected, making a face.

"I'm just keeping it real." Santana said matter-of-factly, releasing Rachel and returning to her seat on the couch. "And, Berry, I swear to God if you bring Man-bot here I will not be held responsible for my actions."

Kurt and Rachel exchanged a glance.

"His face needs rearranging." Santana said simply.

"What has Brody ever done to you?" Rachel questioned, placing the flowers on a nearby table and taking off her coat. She smiled at Kurt in appreciation as he took the flowers and put them in a vase she didn't even know they had.

"I don't like his face, that's all." Santana shrugged. "And anyone who dares to look me in the eye when I'm trying to make like facing Medusa kind of have it coming."

"To be fair," Kurt allowed, "I avoid looking Santana in the eye before she's had her first two cups of coffee."

Santana nodded. "Justifiable homicide, right?"

"I wouldn't go that far." Kurt replied.

"To answer your non-question, Brody is just picking me up." Rachel informed her roommates. "He didn't tell me what else he had planned."

"If you could avoid bringing him here, that would be great." Kurt told her.

Rachel turned to him, her expression tinged with betrayal. "I thought you liked Brody."

"I do." Kurt paused. "A little." He hastened to explain. "But Santana calling him a Manbot has its merits, among which is his tendency to walk around with nothing on. I like a well-built body as much as the next person, but I'd really rather some kind of courtesy for my retinas."

"It was that one time." Rachel retorted.

"You're clearly asleep when he gets up to get a glass of water at night." Kurt shuddered.

"Or catch SportsCenter reruns." Santana added.

"Fine, I'll tell him to keep his clothes on." Rachel sighed in exasperation.

"But that would ruin the very reason why you bother being with him." Santana remarked, flipping through channels on the TV.

Rachel turned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning he's your personal sexbot." Santana replied. Off the following silence, Santana glanced to where Kurt and Rachel were staring at her. "Oh please, as if he's really more than a bed-buddy rebound. Or like anything Manbot 2000 says is even remotely interesting to anyone. Berry just likes him because he asks questions about her and likes talking about her as much as she does."

"I'm standing right here!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Whatever. You know I'm right." Santana said dismissively.

Kurt stared in Santana's direction for a beat, before he blinked and seemingly returned to himself. He turned to Rachel and smiled reassuringly. "She's just bitter because Brittany and Sam have all these Valentine's Day photos on Facebook and Twitter. I was never in a relationship with either of them-"

"You bearded up with Britts." Santana reminded, apparently able to hear them. "And you have a big ol' crush on Trouty."

Kurt winced at the reminder of both teenage indiscretions before he turned back to Rachel. "The point is, she's just being harsher than usual. I'm sure you and Brody have a lot in common and make for riveting discussions."

Rachel smiled at him. "Thanks, Kurt." She glanced at the kitchen utensils on display, indicating dinner in. "No plans for tonight?"

Kurt shook his head. "Adam and I thought to go out on a date tonight is to invite far more complications for such an early budding relationship like our own and opted to stay apart."

Rachel laughed. "Well, have fun with Santana."

"My excitement is beyond words." Kurt replied, deadpan.

Rachel leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to get ready. Keep him away from Santana, if Brody gets here early."

"I'll try." Kurt shooed her away.

Rachel retreated to her space in the loft, and dropped her bag to the floor. She took a deep breath, and focused.

Brody. Brody. _Brody._

Not Finn. Not Jesse St. James. Brody.

Not to say that Santana was right, but Rachel could admit that her relationship with Brody _had_ started as a rebound. She hadn't meant to, she'd only intended to strike up a friendship with the older boy, but he had persisted, and after months of basically being ignored by Finn Hudson, she'd given in. And officially breaking up with Finn included having to move on, and the best way to do that had been to date someone else.

Her problem was that her romantic entanglements always included potential as a leading man as a pre-requisite. And Brody - singer/dancer/actor Brody - had fit the bill. Sure, he was more of a dancer than anything else, but he was in NYADA, and that meant he was talented.

And she would know, she was talented too.

And she had been happy. She was in the city of her dreams, she was in a school that was basically a school for talented people, and she had a good-looking older boy who could fill the leading man role.

Yes, he wasn't as knowledgeable on Broadway or movie musical trivia, but she'd lived through that with Finn, so she could overlook that. He liked sports and talked about it as if athletes were better than Tony Award winners, but then she'd lived through that with Finn, too. He was a dancer, and had decided on that as a career, and as Brody once told her, he figured that if Channing Tatum can make a career as an actor/dancer, he could, too.

Like the world needed more Step Up movies.

She had been happy, even if she could admit that she had pined for Finn every so often, but she could easily believe she could live with this kind of happiness for a long time.

Up until a week ago.

Sitting in a coffee shop sharing stories and anecdotes with Jesse, telling him about her life in the big city, it had been the longest conversation she's ever had with anyone. She hadn't had to filter her opinions, didn't have to worry that he wouldn't get her obscure references, and she didn't have to worry that she was boring him, because Jesse _understood_. And she didn't have to feign interest in acronyms she never cared for - NBA, NFL, MLB, FGs, PFs, TDs - and the difference between the regular and post-seasons.

It had been a giddy feeling, and she'd felt it again on Saturday afternoon after a failed audition that hadn't been as heartbreaking as she'd expected.

If she were to be honest, the disappointment at realizing Jesse had another date tonight was almost at par as hearing Cassandra July answer Brody's phone.

And that was...

_No._ She wasn't going to do this.

Rachel finished getting ready, freshly showered and choosing what perfume to wear, determined to make the most of tonight and not wallow on thoughts of another girl and her stupid bouquet of red roses. If Jesse decided he could date other people, then so did she.

"Rachel, Brody's here!" Kurt called out.

Rachel looked at the mirror, and met her image's eyes. She paused briefly, thinking maybe she should reconsider going out with Brody when she felt like this, before remembering that Brody wanted _her_ and didn't buy some other girl a bouquet of roses, and nodded to herself.

She joined the group in the open space that was their living room just as Brody was taking a seat beside Santana on the couch. Luckily (for him), he straightened back up when he saw her. "Hi."

She smiled at him. "Hi."

Brody Weston was tall, and well-built, and handsome, and he looked good in a casual suit. The way he dressed told her that at the very least, he put in a lot of effort in making himself presentable for this date.

He also brought peonies. Brody extended them to her. "For you."

"Thank you." She liked peonies. They were simple flowers, but not as depressingly simple as daisies. They weren't dramatic, though, and offered no major statements.

From the couch, Santana rolled her eyes.

"Let me put these in a vase." Rachel said, before she stopped and internally cringed. She didn't know how many vases were in the apartment, but she knew there was one in the kitchen, filled with long-stemmed pink and white roses.

"Let me." Kurt said quickly, sweeping in and taking the bouquet from her.

"Thanks, Kurt." Rachel said softly.

Brody's easy grin followed Kurt until his eyes fell upon the extravagant bouquet already in display. "Oh, hey. Nice flowers."

Nobody said a word.

Brody glanced at the three roommates when none of them took the compliment. He had been dating Rachel for a while now, and she's been living with Kurt the entire time; he didn't know Santana Lopez well, and she scared him a little bit, but she didn't strike him as being someone who was particularly modest. He got curious. "Whose flowers are they?"

The three roommates glanced at each other. Until, finally, all three of them spoke. "They're mine."

Brody's eyes widened. "Okay..."

"Oh for..." Santana groaned. "Berry got them for me and Hummel, okay? She thought we were pathetic not having a date this year, and tried to make us feel better. Yay."

Rachel almost wanted to kiss Santana for the save. And she said it so matter-of-factly that it defied argument.

"That was nice of you." Brody told Rachel, who could only smile weakly.

Yes, she was probably going to have to do something nice for Santana after this.

Brody took the jacket Rachel had in her hands, and held it up for her to put it on. Once Rachel had her jacket on, and had picked up her purse, Brody grinned at her. "Ready to go?"

Rachel nodded. She blew Kurt a kiss on her way out.

Santana and Kurt watched the couple leave, before their gazes slowly met.

Kurt quickly dived to block Santana's path to Rachel's room. "No."

Santana shot him a death glare.

Kurt cowered slightly, but he held on to whatever inner strength he had, refusing to move from where his body blocked Santana access to Rachel's room. "Santana, _don't_. She'll tell us in her own time."

"She's keeping secrets, Pale Face. That only leads to bad things." Santana warned.

"I know. But it's obvious she wants to tell us - she wouldn't have brought those flowers up to show us if she didn't - but just not now." Kurt told her.

Santana looked doubtful.

"Santana."

"My Little Pony..."

Kurt shook his head. "Please."

Santana glared at him some more, before she stepped back in annoyance. "Fine! But you suck for being polite about this. And she better tell us, or I swear..."

"She will. I know she will." Kurt assured her. He only allowed himself a sigh of relief when Santana retreated back to the couch.

He really (really really) hoped he wasn't wrong. Or else it would really suck.

And Santana would probably make his life miserable. And that would suck even harder.

So maybe he should figure out he was going to get Rachel to tell them. Or even just him, because then he would get to gloat to Santana.

He cast one more glance in the direction of the roses, and tilted his head to the side. He wondered who had gotten besotted with his best friend and was now the latest in her string of admirers.

The poor soul, honestly.

Those _were_ pretty nice flowers, though.


	9. Chapter 9

Claire examined Rachel's write-up of her dance background (or, to be more accurate, her entire performing arts background), and glanced up at the petite girl. "You pretty much dropped dance last year, save for," - she consulted the sheet - "Jazz/Modern. Any particular reason?"

They were seated together, facing each other, on one of the wooden benches that lined one of the walls in the NYADA dance studio Claire instructed Rachel to meet her in. Rachel had told Claire about the feedback from her previous audition that she lacked fluidity of movement, which Claire agreed with, and they were now discussing Rachel's background in dance. So far Claire had been fairly impressed, since not a lot of people took a dance class every year when it wasn't the future career they wanted to pursue. That is, until the questionable matter of Rachel only sticking to one dance class and her voice lessons last year.

"I was busy with show choir. And with school, and the school musical, and applying to college, dance kind of had to take a back seat to voice lessons." Rachel admitted.

Claire lifted an eyebrow, interested. "Where else did you apply?"

Okay. Maybe not so much with the 'applying to college'. Rachel smiled weakly. "I was not as eagerly accepted into NYADA as I had anticipated."

Claire looked confused.

"I choked." Rachel amended.

"I'm sorry?"

"I choked my audition. And I spent pretty much all my free time afterwards in an attempt to remedy that problem." Rachel explained.

Claire stared at her for a moment, before turning back to the sheet in her hands. She looked back up at Rachel, shaking her head. "Try that again."

"Excuse me?"

Claire pointed at Rachel's write-up. "You've been performing since the age of... Oh: you won your first contest at three months. And you've been in voice and dance lessons pretty much since then, and you're telling me you choked on your NYADA audition?" She interrogated. "Rachel Berry. Either you're lying to me, or last year sucked for you in ways that are beyond my comprehension but could explain why, even with your background, you somehow can't get over the fact that you actually won last December's showcase."

Well. When someone put it in those terms, she didn't really know how to explain what happened last year.

She tried not to think about it too much, the events of the previous year. Somehow, between declaring on the Gershwin stage that she was going to focus on her future and career and ending up brokenhearted and saying goodbye to her high school glee club on a train platform before heading to New York, she had lost sight of what Broadway meant to her and allowed her life to go off the rails. She had clung desperately to Finn, repeatedly broken her flawless attendance record, got suspended and subsequently lost the lead to their Sectionals performance, allowed others (Blaine) to upstage her in the Glee Club she had built from almost nothing, and almost bound herself to the small town mentality of Lima, Ohio.

Pretty much all but lost her close relationship with Jesse. Almost lost her friendships with Kurt, Mercedes, Tina and even Puck. Almost lost Quinn.

Almost lost New York, and Broadway.

She really didn't like thinking about last year.

"I don't know what to tell you," Rachel said instead, feigning an ambivalence she most certainly did not feel.

Claire looked at her for one long studying minute, as if discerning the truth behind that statement, before she turned back to Rachel's write-up. "So is there any particular dance you want to focus on?"

"No, just a general marked improvement." Rachel admitted, relieved that the questioning of her recent past was over. "I don't know if you noticed, during class..."

"You count steps." Claire finished for her. She nodded. "Very obvious counting, actually. And you do a weird hop/skip step when changing directions during freestyle. It's very distracting."

Rachel frowned. Did she?

"You also need to change dance partners." Claire advised her. "I don't know how you ended up with him..."

"Kyle." Rachel supplied the name of her dance partner.

"...But the two of you aren't working. He's half a step slower than he should be and you need someone who can lead properly. I can help you work on the solo stuff, but in class you need to help yourself. Choose a better partner."

Rachel's was aghast. "I can't do that!"

Claire looked puzzled at the objection. "There's a whole class of guys to choose from. Actually, the redhead in your class who could work well with him. Ask her if she wants to trade partners."

"But it'll hurt his feelings!"

Claire was now officially confused. "And?"

"That's mean!" Rachel cried.

"Not if it's helping all four of you in the long run," Claire pointed out. "Rachel Berry, when your grades come in and the two of you get piled with demerits because of all the technical flaws, he's not going to care whether or not you stayed with him to spare him his feelings. In fact, I guarantee you one day you'll get told to change partners and if you're lucky you won't get a shit ton of criticism to go with that instruction. If you're very lucky, redhead and her dance partner wouldn't have improved their rhythm in that time. Besides, nobody's going to want to trade partners that late in the term. Spare yourself the drama, tell your dance partner it's not working out."

"We can improve!" Rachel said defensively.

Claire shook her head, annoyed that the girl who had done her best to convince her to provide dance lessons was now protesting her advice. "I'm not telling you this to create a training montage in your head, Berry. He sucks. And in the meantime, you're sucking alongside him. You can improve." She lifted the write-up. "This tells me you're better than what I saw in your class. You could do better. His learning curve will take a little longer. Switch partners. Sing him Kumbaya while you do it, if it will make you feel better. Just do it."

"But-"

"Favor bank!" Claire snapped, shutting Rachel up cold, and left the two of them in silence.

Rachel sat, stunned at the sharp tone of Claire's voice. It was so reminiscent of all those years of Quinn and even Santana sidling up to her while she was doing innocuous tasks like changing her books at her locker and being verbally berated at for some random thing Rachel could only guess at and cower under their sharp and cutting statements. The difference is that unlike then, Rachel knew the verbal lashing she had just received wasn't just because of some imagined slight she had done: She had asked Claire for help, and Claire was trying to, just not in a way Rachel liked.

Not that any of her past instructors had been particularly gentle in their teaching. Not Madame Vivienne and her demand for perfect pitch. Not any of her dance teachers and their disdain that while she didn't lack the figure they would have wanted for their class, she had the form and determination.

In fact, when she thought about it, Madame Vivienne had only become enamored with her voice when Rachel got older, after that heart arrhythmia during Rachel's junior year had forced her to be more calm and less severe in their lessons.

_Schuester._

Rachel realized with a start: her refusal to take instruction without having to question it stemmed from years under William Schuester, her Glee Club advisor. He had questioned her at every turn, refused to utilize her (superior) song selections, demoted her from lead in the guise of giving everyone a turn (and yet had consistently insisted for Finn to be the male lead on all songs), and even refused to acknowledge - even reverse - decisions she made for the betterment of the Glee Club even though she was team captain. He had helped demoralize her, had sat back while others in the club attacked her (if only just verbally), and had even gone so far as to infer that she was not the superior talent in that group.

She had so gotten used to doubting the intelligence behind her Glee Club instructor's decisions and actions that she had applied that same doubt to others. She no longer recognized constructive criticism and only saw that she was being questioned, being challenged, and that her feelings were not the important thing on the road to improvement of her skills.

As she had with Cassandra July. And Jesse. And now Claire, whom she had specifically approached because Claire was the best in the school.

Tears of shame (that she was so blindly defensive) and humiliation (that she was so emotionally beaten down that she didn't know how to take criticism anymore) blurred Rachel's vision as she lowered her head, keeping her gaze locked on her hands.

"I'm sorry." Rachel whispered, knowing that if she said it any louder her voice would crack (and she couldn't have that).

Claire sighed. She hated it when people cried. She'd seen it too often when she had been a ringer for various ballet recitals, depriving so many girls her age the chance to become the lead (the star), and had often heard the hushed whispers and shuddering breaths of those girls when they realized they wouldn't get the chance to shine. She hadn't much liked being a ringer, either, but when you were the most talented dancer in the entire state, and ballet and dance schools wanted to have their schools publicized and noticed, it was best to bring in a ringer for the big recital. With a voice tinged with exasperation and devoid of any major concern, Claire uttered, "Berry, don't cry."

"I j-just..."

"Just change partners." Claire declared, a little impatiently, wanting to get Rachel's crying session over and done with. "It's not a big thing. Take control of your life, and all that stuff."

"I d-did-didn't mean to..." Rachel took a deep breath.

Oh God. Claire sighed, hearing the shudder in that intake. Was it possible to get Post-Traumatic Stress from the tears of sad girls? She hoped not, and she especially hoped Rachel Berry developed a thicker skin soon, because she had only learned from the most demanding of ballet teachers, and didn't know how to teach in any other way. She liked Rachel enough, but she wasn't going to coddle the girl: They weren't even friends.

Claire sighed, and decided to talk about something random, hoping it would stop the crying. "How was your weekend?"

Oh she did not see the increase in waterworks coming. Nor did Claire anticipate the blubbering gibberish that followed.

"I have no idea what you just said."

Rachel looked up, paused briefly to frown when she realized Claire wasn't holding out a tissue or kerchief or anything to help her wipe away her tears, and brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. "I can't look at Brody."

"I know," Claire agreed genially. "He's like the Jude Law robot in that weird robot movie. How is that movie supposed to pass for existentialism, I don't know."

Rachel stared at her, wondering what the hell the dancer was talking about, before she continued, "I keep thinking of someone else."

Claire wondered if her wish to brush up on her various dancing techniques via instruction was worth the drama of being around Rachel Berry. She considered what the girl had said, and wondered, "Did you sleep with someone else?"

"What? No!" Rachel shrieked in protest.

"Then what's the problem?" Claire asked, confused.

"It's like emotional cheating!" Rachel exclaimed.

"But it's a casual relationship, I don't understand..." Claire let her voice drift off, not knowing quite how to describe or begin to approach Rachel's emotional state, as well as seeing Rachel's puzzled expression.

"How did you know that?" Rachel asked, her tears subsiding as she voiced her confusion.

"What?"

"That Brody and I have an open relationship." Rachel elaborated.

"Other than the fact that he tells every girl he knows that you two aren't serious?" Claire queried. He really did, and it was nauseating to watch girls giggle and relish the attention. It had been nauseating when she had only known him in passing and mainly by name and reputation, but now that she knew Rachel, it had become a reason for a very thorough disdain.

Rachel frowned at the confirmation that Brody was flirting with other girls. She had agreed to the "open relationship", sure, but that had been abstract. Yes, she had technically asked Jesse for a date, but that was different. She didn't know exactly _how_, but it had to be.

"I told you he's a tool." Claire reminded.

"He's not like that." Rachel protested weakly.

Claire smiled wryly. "He really is."

"His girlfriend hurt him badly." Rachel argued, defending the boy she was dating. Just like she always did. "He's sweet, and nice. He was a friend when I didn't have anyone else."

"Did he also say he's willing to just be your friend and zero in for a kiss five seconds later?" Claire put forth.

Rachel's silence was enough of an affirmative answer.

Claire sighed. She was socially inept, but she wasn't totally soulless. "Look. I'm not saying he's not a nice guy. Compared to some other guys I've met, Brody Weston's not that bad. But you have to admit that someone who pulls the shit he does can't be that good a guy."

Rachel glanced away, and again felt that flashback of high school, when everyone in Glee revealed that they knew about Finn having lost his virginity to Santana while she had been lied to and kept in the dark. She had felt like an idiot then, and she felt like an idiot now.

"You should have stayed in the dorms," Claire said quietly. "A lot of girls could have warned you."

"I just don't understand why I keep ending up with..." Rachel didn't know how to finish that sentence. Finn tended to be insensitive (most of the time). Jesse had broken an egg on her head. Brody apparently enjoyed the "casual relationship" thing freely. Noah Puckerman had been relatively nice to her even after they had dated, but he was also the guy who had fed Quinn enough wine coolers to get her drunk so he could have sex with her and did it without protection.

Yeah. Not the best track record.

"Did you..." Rachel began hesitantly.

Claire tilted her head to the side questioningly.

"You and Brody-?"

Claire recoiled, revolted. "God, no. He's too Ken Doll-like for my taste. Too corn-fed. No."

"So... that whole thing, that he does: That's why you hate him?" Rachel asked.

Claire paused thoughtfully, considering. "Well, that's part of it. I really just hated him on sight. I've met too many guys like him, and they're never really worth knowing. Then I heard the stories, and Ms. July started sleeping with him... He never really did anything to make himself worth knowing."

"So he's been sleeping with Cassie July for a while?" Rachel asked.

"She usually waits until they're not in her class anymore, and it's one of NYADA's worst kept secrets, but rumor has it they started hooking up late last school year."

Honestly. Rachel hated last year.

Claire glanced at the clock on the wall, and sighed in relief. Time flies when you're talking to someone you don't mind about someone you loathe. "Well, time's up. We'll start with ballet next time. We've agreed, Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

Rachel had really hoped Thursdays or Fridays wouldn't have been an option, since those were days Jesse was free at an earlier hour, but she really needed to improve her dancing. "Yes. Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Claire stood up, and picked up her bag, before pausing and turning back to Rachel. "Can I ask you a question?"

Rachel nodded.

"Why do you carry your entire home and kitchen sink with you?" Claire asked, motioning to Rachel's large bag. "You're tiny, and that's dangerous."

"Oh," Rachel smiled faintly. "Our apartment's an hour away by subway. I have to bring everything I might need for the day."

"Weston won't let you keep your stuff in his dorm?" Claire asked.

"I don't feel comfortable." Rachel admitted.

Claire frowned. "But you sleep with him."

"Yes."

Claire was certain Rachel Berry had caused her fair share of headaches and migraines in the past. Instead of asking for clarification, she inquired, "You know that you can rent a locker in the the student center, right?"

What, now?

Off Rachel's confused look, Claire explained. "The Student Center has a bank of lockers in the back. You have to bring your own lock, but you can rent those things for the semester. They're like twenty bucks. The room smells a little, but that's got to be better than lugging everything around."

Rachel nodded dumbly. Why hadn't she known this? "I'll look into it."

"If there aren't any available, tell me. I can find someone who's willing to offload their locker."

"Thank you."

Claire nodded, and left the room.

Not soon after Kurt entered the room. "Did I just see Claire Beaumont leave this room?"

Rachel nodded.

Kurt peered back out the door, Rachel supposed so that he could check that it had really been the reputable dancer. He turned back to Rachel. "Am I to understand you were just in this classroom with Claire Beaumont?"

Rachel smiled at his fangirling. "I've asked her to help me with my dancing."

Kurt nodded eagerly, before he slowed and noted, "you didn't ask Brody?"

"Claire's the best, Kurt. I want to to learn from the best."

"Okay..." Kurt drawled, before he focused on why he had tracked down Rachel. "We need to talk."

"We see each other all the time at home." Rachel reminded.

"Santana's there. I figure you would rather just talk to me without Santana." Kurt sat down and leaned forward eagerly. "So? Tell me."

Rachel laughed, confused. "Tell you what, Kurt?"

"Who gave you the flowers?"

Rachel inwardly groaned. Right. Her _other_ dilemma. Or, to be honest, the source of her Brody-related dilemma. She looked at Kurt's bright-eyed, gossip-queen-of-McKinley face, and sighed.

Kurt squealed a little, anticipating juicy gossip. He and Mercedes can speculate for hours on Skype on this. And he could gloat to Santana. Win-win.

"Hey Rachel."

They both turned to see Brody at the doorway.

He grinned at them, oblivious to the mental processes happening within the Kurt and Rachel. "Ready to go?"

Kurt wanted to kick him. Brody Weston could probably take him in a fight - easily - but he had been so close! And people wondered how he could dislike Brody.

Rachel grabbed Kurt's hand with her left hand while she hoisted her bag to her right shoulder, and pulled him towards the door. It wasn't the brave thing to do, but in this case she would happily take the opportunity not to deal with the revelation regarding Brody and explaining to Kurt where she got the roses.

She hated to admit it, but sometimes cowardice had its merits.


	10. Chapter 10

He had to admit, NYADA and its student population was remarkably reminiscent of the movie Fame, and he found something inherently amusing about that. The halls were pretty average, certainly not too imposing, but were full of students in their performance gear, all talking among themselves and from what he could pick up from their conversations, a lot of them were talking about the apparent work partnership between Claire Beaumont and Rachel Berry.

Jesse smiled to himself in amusement, because this was exactly the kind of fame and attention Rachel craved in high school, to have her name spoken with such reverence and admiration.

He had read up on Claire Beaumont, and he had to admit, she was a formidable foil to Rachel. She was driven, and ambitious, and had been a widely-touted up-and-coming dancer even before she landed in New York. If she could translate that steel will and determination into instructing Rachel, there was no reason for Rachel not to succeed in improving her dancing abilities.

And, yes, he hoped Claire's ruthless ambition could spark something in Rachel.

Rachel was certainly keeping busy, now meeting him for an hour on Mondays and Wednesdays and two or three hours on Fridays while she met Claire for an hour and a half on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The schedule had been going on for almost two weeks now, and it seemed to be working. It was interesting, to see that Rachel thrived better and generally worked harder when she kept busy, but he wondered how she found time to entertain Benny when her schedule was pretty much full the whole week.

Not that she talked about him much lately. In fact, she had been particularly professional the past two weeks, only talking and asking questions about the songs they were working on or about her classes. She didn't spend time with him after their sessions, and had even opted out of attending a viewing of My Fair Lady. Then again, he hadn't heard the names Finn or Benny the whole time, either.

It was disconcerting.

Not having to be updated on the goings-on in the lives of Benny and Finnbecile was a relief, don't get him wrong, but still rather disconcerting.

It was Friday, and Rachel had asked him to come to NYADA instead of the rehearsal studios they usually met at, because she wanted him to judge a performance she was preparing for one of her classes, and for some reason he could totally understand, it needed a stage.

If it meant she was singing, and he could ascertain the strength of her vocals in an auditorium, then he wasn't going to argue.

Jesse checked the room number she had given him, and he pushed through the doors that led to one of the smaller theaters NYADA had. When he got inside, he found Rachel already onstage, standing by the piano and seemingly working on something. The stage lights were on, highlighting the shine of her hair.

Jesse sauntered down the steps towards the stage. He grinned. "Is this spectacle for my benefit?"

Rachel turned, and smiled brightly at him. "You're early."

"I'm on time." Jesse corrected.

"But on time means you're late," Rachel reminded cheekily, earning herself an acknowledging eye-roll. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I thought it would be a nice change of setting, having a stage to work on, while also needing your input on my homework. The homework is to sing a ballad."

"Your bread and butter." Jesse noted, amused.

Rachel smiled. "Indeed. And for the homework, I chose Stay by Rihanna."

Jesse nodded slowly, considering the choice. He placed his things on a chair, and sat down on the seat beside it. "It's still a pop song, Rachel."

"I know." Rachel agreed. "But I do believe that I can give it the depth that would elevate it to true ballad form." She glanced around. "The pianist I talked to should be here soon."

"Bet you wish Brad had followed you to New York." Jesse quipped, naming the man that been McKinley High's resident pianist.

Rachel laughed. "He was certainly very reliable. But I was getting the impression that he had begun to really hate Glee Club."

"He hated Will Schuester." Jesse told her.

"No, he didn't."

"He did." Jesse confirmed. "He told me."

"You're lying."

Jesse shrugged.

Rachel paused, thinking about it, and leaned forward. "Did he tell you anything about me?"

"He thought you were very talented." Jesse supplied succinctly. He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on the arm rests on either side of him. "Why did you choose the song?"

"I like the message."

Jesse nodded, accepting that response without argument or further questioning. He glanced around the empty auditorium, and turned back to Rachel. "Sing something."

"What?"

"While we're waiting. Sing something."

Rachel hesitated, glancing around. "I'm not sure..."

"Come on," Jesse prodded. "It's not often we get a stage like this."

Rachel was certainly tempted. She bit her lip, considering, before she conceded that she wanted to and nodded. She left her things on the piano, and approached the microphone. She stepped into the spotlight, and closed her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and imagined a full house waiting with bated breath for her voice to fill the room.

_All I know is everything is not as it's sold_

Jesse sat quietly, letting Rachel's voice singing Nelly Furtado's Try capture him, the way she once had with Don't Rain On My Parade. He may not always agree with her song choices (or what she chose to do with her life) but he maintained that she had one of the most beautiful voices he had ever heard - and coming from someone who listened to as much music as he did, that meant a lot.

_Then I see you standing there  
Wanting more from me  
And all I can do is try_

There was a reason he hated it when she fell back on simple pop songs: her voice alone was strong enough to convey a message, and she was always better when she went for emotional honesty than forcing impact.

She still sang beautifully, the simplicity of the song giving way to the emotions behind it, making it bigger, more meaningful. He wondered why she chose the song, but sometimes it was better not to ask questions, to just enjoy the moment, to let yourself be swept up in the singer's connection to the song. He still held that performances were better when the singer connected to the song, but he didn't have to know the reasons. He had learned that lesson two years ago.

_We are free in our love_

The last note hung in the air, filling the auditorium.

Rachel opened her eyes, and met blue eyes that assured her that it had been as flawless as she thought. She couldn't help the smug smile that pulled at her lips. "Thoughts?"

Jesse shook his head, opting instead to merely smile back.

A noise at the back of the auditorium informed them that they were being joined by the pianist Rachel had contracted for the afternoon's rehearsal, and effectively broke the silence that hung between them and signalled the start of Rachel's rehearsal.

After the first run through, Jesse honestly thought Rachel's Try number was better than Stay, but he was honest enough to admit that maybe he just liked the message better. After suggesting some small changes - just to help more with Rachel's breathing techniques and to avoid her tendency to belt - Jesse was a little more pleased with the final result.

Taking a break before one last run through to end the afternoon, Jesse and Rachel were standing together by the piano, working on his latest project for Rachel - Superboy and the Invisible Girl from Next to Normal - when a commanding voice boomed into the space, "Miss Berry."

The duo turned towards the doors, where the voice had come from, and found Carmen Tibideaux standing there.

She descended the steps heading to the front of the auditorium, regarding the two onstage. Her lips formed a thin line. "Mr. St. James."

"Ms. Tibideaux," Jesse returned, stepping forward to effectively stand between the Dean and Rachel.

"Is there a reason why you're in my campus?" Dean Tibideaux inquired.

"Rachel asked for input regarding her homework." Jesse answered.

The calculating gaze flickered towards Rachel. "Miss Berry, is there something you find missing in your instruction in NYADA?"

"No!" Rachel exclaimed. "Jesse is just the closest I have to an honest peer."

"I see." Dean Tibideaux said simply, her gaze still studying the two of them. She pointed at Jesse. "I'd like a word with you, Mr. St. James."

Jesse glanced at Rachel, whose gaze was worried. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and descended the steps off the stage to follow the NYADA instructor.

As he followed the older woman out of the auditorium and towards where he supposed her office was, he really hoped he hadn't gotten Rachel into trouble. Sure, her professor had been the one to tell her to consult someone else to help her, but maybe steering her off a very well-trodden path and encouraging her in her wish to sing Bohemian Rhapsody might not be the challenge NYADA wanted their students to undertake.

He also hoped Kurt had already left campus, because that gossip queen would cajole Rachel to the point that it was more needling that anything else.

"Have a seat." Dean Tibideaux offered, as she took her own seat behind her desk.

Jesse obeyed. He met the woman's studying gaze with his own even gaze, not giving her an inch. He hadn't done anything wrong, and he wasn't going to apologize for forcing Rachel out of her comfort zone.

When Dean Tibideaux's lips broke into a small smile, he knew he was somewhat in the clear. "You're working with our Miss Berry."

Not a question.

"One of her professors told her to seek out advice. She asked me." Jesse provided.

"I'm aware of such an instruction," Dean Tibideaux informed him. She leaned back. "Was the partnership with Claire Beaumont your doing?"

"Indirectly." Jesse allowed. If Rachel had been telling the truth that NYADA freshmen were discouraged from attending open calls, then he wasn't going to be the one to spill the beans.

"It's unorthodox, to allow one of our students to seek out outside help, especially from an amateur." Dean Tibideaux told him.

He couldn't even be offended. "I'm only looking out for her best interests."

"Yes, I can imagine." She noted. She regarded him. "What would you say is her biggest weakness?"

Jesse couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his lips.

"Does my question amuse you, Mr. St. James?"

"Not at all," Jesse answered. "But finding the right answer does."

"Oh?"

"She's stubborn. Obstinate. She's pig-headed. Her confidence in her abilities border arrogance, unfortunately sometimes misplaced. She's afraid to take risks." Jesse enumerated.

"All right." Dean Tibideaux nodded. "And which one would you say makes her weakest?"

Jesse sighed. He had thought about this, often and in depth, whenever he thought about Rachel Berry and why she so insisted on defending and staying with her high school Glee Club, among some of her bigger off-putting life choices. More than just performance-wise, Rachel's biggest flaw was more than just a combination of the earlier words he had used to describe her. "Her constant need for validation."

"Care to explain?" Dean Tibideaux pressed.

Jesse looked upon the singer, and decided that the woman had taken a chance with Rachel, and he kind of owed her. Besides, explaining might help the NYADA faculty in knowing how to better manage Rachel Berry's performances (and Rachel Berry in general). "She's good: We all know that. But she has insecurities that rise up and sometimes take reign, which is why she insists on playing it safe because the few times she's taken a risk nobody took her aside and told her what she did right and why it worked. She knows her strengths, but doesn't always know how to maximize what she's capable of. She needs to be told what to do, how to get better, and when she does it herself, someone has to take the time to tell her she did a good job."

NYADA's Dean of Vocal Performance and Song Interpretation studied him for a long moment, in what Jesse hoped was appraisal of his analysis regarding Rachel's insecurities.

He would never forgive William Schuester if the reason Rachel never grew out of her complacency is because of her experience under his tutelage. He never witnessed it firsthand, since New Directions' faculty advisor had been too afraid of saying something to lead Rachel right into Vocal Adrenaline's clutches, but Jesse had heard the recordings. (Why Rachel never told Lauren Zizes to get rid of the microphones they had put there during Rachel's sophomore year, he never understood, but for a regular delivery of candies, the female wrestler willingly sent him the recorded sessions - It wasn't spying if he mostly just rolled his eyes at what he heard and didn't bother using what he heard to his - and Vocal Adrenaline's - advantage.)

Finally, the older woman spoke again. "I reviewed the recordings from your audition."

Jesse perked up. If there was anything that interested him more than Broadway and Rachel Berry, it was himself.

"I maintain that it was a flawed effort, as well as everything else I said." Dean Tibideaux told him. "I admit, it's not often people make an appeal for someone else; yours intrigued me."

Jesse hesitated. "You haven't told Rachel...?"

She shook her head no. "This isn't about her admission into NYADA."

_Oh?_ Jesse was admittedly curious.

"Do you know what the biggest problem in your audition was?"

Jesse shook his head.

"I already told you that you gave a passionate attempt at a challenging song, and if it had been merely based on your apparent emotional connection to the song, it would have been easy to give you admission." Dean Tibideaux told him. "Technique can be honed, improved. But passion is either there, or it isn't. And while you seemed connected to the song, you didn't seem to be particularly focused on your audition."

Jesse frowned.

He remembered the audition, a mere week after Regionals his senior year. He had been emotionally worn, and he and Shelby Corcoran had discovered a strain in their mentorship that had never been there before. He had poured what emotional stress that hadn't been exorcised in Bohemian Rhapsody into his NYADA audition.

"I thought your distraction was you being complacent, considering you already had a scholarship to UCLA lined up." Dean Tibideaux noted. "But that wasn't it, is it?"

No.

She looked at him. "She's gotten better, you know. Everyone's been telling me they can see why I gave her a chance, despite her first audition. I imagine I can credit the improvement to your input."

Jesse shook his head. "I'm just guiding her. She's the one doing the work."

Dean Tibideaux actually smiled. "You never struck me as being particularly modest, Mr. St. James."

"Definitely not the kid you first met," Jesse conceded.

She smiled in acknowledgment.

Jesse paused, weighing out his options, then leaned forward. There was something that mad him curious about NYADA and Rachel Berry's place in it. "I asked Rachel for her end-of-term evaluations, but she hasn't delivered. Do you think maybe you could..."

"Those are official school documents, Mr. St. James." She gave him a stern look. "Those can only be released to the students or a parent or guardian. Not..." She paused, before she gave him a curious look. "I was recently made aware that the role of boyfriend is filled by Brody Weston. I was under the impression you were filling that role."

Jesse shook his head. "She means a lot to me. That's all."

"I would say so, if you used your rare face time with me to appeal on her behalf and not yours." Dean Tibideaux observed. "Your actions in Chicago implied the two of you were involved."

Jesse said nothing.

And the college dean didn't press. "As for her evaluations, she can request for her copy from the desk in front."

"I'll tell her." Jesse assured.

She gazed thoughtfully at him. "I admit, if you auditioned for me right now, I might be intrigued enough to let you in."

Jesse smiled. "That's nice of you to say. But I like where I am right now." He chuckled a little. "And I suppose I owe you a 'thank you', for your recommendation."

He had been in the middle of packing his things at Carmel when the phone call had come through, and the last thing he had expected was Carmen Tibideaux asking if he was determined to stay and coach high school show choir in Ohio, or if he was willing to take his chance in New York City. The choice was obvious, and she had followed up that question with another one: given the chance, what would he like to be doing in New York?

He never knew if he had given the answer she had wanted, but he was in the summer program as prelude to the 2-year musical theater program of the American Musical and Dramatic Academy weeks later. He had applied there months before and hadn't heard anything after his final audition, but it couldn't have been a coincidence, right?

The older woman gave him a discerning look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jesse inclined his head, acknowledging the non-response. "Regardless. Thank you."

Carmen Tibideaux waved her hand to dismiss him. "I believe you have a girl to get back to."


	11. Chapter 11

Rachel wanted to go to New York's highest point and just scream her head off and announce to the city that Jesse St. James is everything her Glee Club teammates have ever accused him of being.

He understood her. He annoyed her. He challenged her. He questioned her. He frustrated her.

He knew her weaknesses, and particularly her desire to know everything, and yet he had pointedly ignored her questioning and cajoling when he had returned from his interlude with Dean Tibideaux. What had he been hiding? Was he even hiding anything? Instead all he told her was that her end-of-term faculty evaluations could be retrieved from the Office of the Dean of her department.

She had thought that two weeks of being the utmost professional would have given him cause for concern, but he hadn't said a word. Not when she refused to answer his seemingly-innocent question of how her Valentine's Day date had gone, or when she had opted not to attend the Julie Andrews-in-My Fair Lady viewing party. She wondered if he had even noticed her cold(er) demeanor. He hasn't said anything about the fact that she was dividing her days after classes between sessions with him and with Claire, or about the fact that for two weeks she made it a point not to mention anything about her personal life to him.

And earlier, he hadn't taken the bait when she'd said that her choice of ballad had a message, nor had he asked why she had chosen to sing that Nelly Furtado song. No, he had just sat there, and listened.

Not a single reaction.

He made her want to tear her hair out.

After the final run through, after he had returned from his meeting with Dean Tibideaux, Jesse had almost immediately told her he had to get going. She had tried to get him to tell her where he was going, but he had merely responded with that annoying catch-all that he had "plans", and that he would see her on Monday afternoon.

He was being deliberately evasive, and it was annoying. He had to know what he was doing, and that only served to irk her even more. What purpose did it serve, after all, for him to avoid giving her a straight answer?

Rachel all but stomped her way from the subway to her apartment door, and she really hoped Brody wasn't doing one of his surprise visits to the apartment because while she hadn't called him out on his flirting with other girls, she wasn't ready to address why she hadn't been intimate with him/avoiding him like the plague for the past two weeks. If she were to be honestly accurate, she knew exactly when she started pulling away from him.

Around the same time a bouquet of pink and white roses that refused to die entered her life.

No, really: those flowers had barely begun to wilt. She attributed their longevity to Kurt's care, but she had no doubt that those things were like the enchanted rose in the Beast's room, because they served a purpose.

What that purpose was, she had no idea. Maybe as a reminder that Jesse thought she was a pink-and-white rose bouquet person in his life and someone else got red roses.

She _might_ still be a little bitter, two (almost three) weeks later.

Rachel had barely gotten the door to the apartment open when her arm was grabbed and she was yanked inside.

_Bloody murder._ She would be screaming, but she recognized her assailant as Santana Lopez, and she surrendered to the manhandling even as she was shoved onto the couch.

"We needs to talk, Berry."

Oh, joy.

Rachel scowled up at her roommate as she rubbed her arm. She frowned petulantly. "Ow."

Santana pointed at her. "You've been lying, Berry."

Rachel stared at her. Had she gotten made, regarding Jesse?

Santana raised the index finger she had been using to point at Rachel to indicate for Rachel to wait, and she moved to the answering machine and pressed a button.

Finn. Calling to inform the apartment's residents that he needed to get away from Lima after it came out that the New Directions weren't going to Regionals and they were going to be his lucky hosts.

"I didn't invite him." Rachel said quickly. She hadn't even spoken to him in weeks, not since she realized she had her own problems independent of Finn Hudson, and she really didn't need his problems to pile onto hers. Sure, her problems could be categorized as over-privileged upper-middle class not-quite-so-white girl problems, but come on now: she had been told by a talent agent that she needed improving. If you were Rachel Berry, you'd be worried, too.

"He obviously thinks he has a 'welcome anytime' standing invitation."

"He doesn't." Rachel told her firmly.

"He's not coming here, Berry. He _can't_." Santana swiped something from beside the table. "Do you think I enjoy sitting by the phone waiting for some second-rate wannabe pimp-slash-bar manager-slash-producer-slash-agent to call my land line to prove I actually really do have a New York address and having to field phone calls from your fan club of ass-faced not-boyfriends all day?"

Rachel's face crinkled as she tried to follow Santana's sentence. "What..."

Santana held up the pieces of paper she had picked up, allowing Rachel to recognize the slips from the call log she and Kurt had by the phone. Santana held them up one by one. "Finnocent: Does Rachel have her phone. Finnessa: Why isn't Rachel answering my texts. Pretty Boy: Can you tell Rachel to call me. Angry Finn: What's so important that Rachel can't help me." Santana read. "It hurts me just to read these." She tossed the pieces at Rachel's general direction.

Rachel picked one up at random, examined it, before picking another up. Seeing the exact same thing on two other slips, she looked up and glared at Santana. "These are blank."

"If they're so stupid to leave a message with me they've got another thing coming." Santana retorted. "'Sides, they both start their phone calls with 'Rachel's not answering her phone' which, come on, if you don't want to talk to them why would you care about their messages?"

"I've been busy, that's all." Rachel sighed. "I'm sorry they disrupted your day."

"Disrupted, nothing." Santana scoffed. "I did, however, take their annoying voices as permission to get answers."

"Answers?" Rachel echoed, confused. She had always worried about these kinds of moments with Santana - well, with all Cheerios, for that matter - when they would tell her something vague, obviously expecting her to be puzzled and confused, and they would deliver a zinger of a reply or worse, a Slushy to the face.

Santana nodded. "I've been patient, Berry. I would even go so far as to say I've been the epi-fucking-tome of patience. I sat by and let you avoid the careful questioning of Pale Face, and didn't say a word when you spent an entire Sunday morning staring at those Not-from-Manbot flowers." She picked up a book from the coffee table in front of the couch, opened it to the first page, and held it up to Rachel. "Who's Andy?"

"_You touched Patti?_" Rachel exclaimed, reaching out to grab the copy of _Patti LuPone: A Memoir_ back. She caressed the book, examining for damage, and was relieved when she found none. How dare Santana touch something away from the safety of a locked trunk. She shot Santana a glare. "Did you break my lock? Have you been rummaging through my things?"

"What?" Santana asked defensively. "I go through yours and Girl Face's things all the time."

Rachel stared at her incredulously. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Why do you think Q changed her locker combo every two weeks?" Santana asked. She rolled her eyes at Rachel's gaping expression. "Is what I do, OK, Jan Brady, no need to be so surprised about it. Point is, Ken Doll and Stay-Puft have been calling up the phone since you've been avoiding them and you have a book signed to some guy named Andy."

"That's none of your business."

"Is when I have to hear Puffy Nips's whining." Santana replied. "FYI, Berry: I opted out of Ohio for a reason, and one of them is to not see your ex-boyfriend's constipated baby face or hear his whining on a regular basis. I thought we were simpatico on this."

Rachel shook her head, annoyed that it was bad enough she was conflicted regarding Brody and Jesse but of course Finn had to be in the picture, too. She could only afford to say, "Santana, it's not what you think."

"Really? 'Cause I'm thinking maybe you realized you're a sneaky kind of hot with an OK voice in New York City and you're tying yourself down to... Well, let's face it, Puffy's not getting out of Lima and Ab-tastic isn't going anywhere." Santana pointed at the book. "Andy sounds... okay, let's be honest: Andy lined up to have a book signed by a chick who's probably more Broadway than Hollywood, since I've never heard of her-"

"Patti LuPone is an institution!" Rachel exclaimed heatedly.

"-So this guy Andy's probably pretty gay, if we're being brutally honest, which, as we know, I am. But if you're dating him, well, everyone deserves to date that one oops-I-should-have-smelled-the-gay-sooner guy sooner or later, and if not, then I totes support your gathering of your new harem of gay men." Santana gave her a once-over. "God knows you need it."

Rachel glanced down at herself, because she thought she looked pretty OK.

Santana rolled her eyes before crossing her arms and looking at the other brunette impatiently. "So?"

Rachel looked up, and crossed her arms defiantly. "I would like an apology for touching my things, Santana."

"Boohoo, your stuff needed weeding out, anyway." Santana remarked. "Who's Andy, Berry?"

"Andy's nobody." Rachel answered in exasperation, throwing her hands up. "If anything, he used to own the book, which is now mine."

Santana narrowed her eyes at Rachel, calculating, before she shook her head. "Whatever. But piece of advice? If you're stepping out on Ken, you can't leave stuff just lying around."

"I'm not..." Rachel began, but groaned. "Besides, we're in an open relationship!"

Santana, who had taken a seat on the opposite end of the couch, glanced at her and scoffed. "You don't know what that means."

"It means we can see other people!" She had her own apprehensions regarding the standing of her relationship with Brody, but that didn't mean Santana could just attack her current relationship.

"It means you're in a committed relationship but are allowed to date or sleep with other people." Santana reminded. "Are you and Straight Ken dating?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Santana pressed. "FYI, Berry: Sex isn't dating."

Rachel gave her a sidelong glance.

"I would know." Santana declared in a matter-of-fact tone.

Rachel shrugged. "I admit, we haven't been out on a lot of dates..."

"Uh huh." Santana smirked. She picked up her nail file, and used it to gesture at Rachel. "Since I haven't seen you date anyone else, and if you're not dating Gay Andy, I'm guessing there's a reason you agreed to a casual - and by casual I mean sexual - relationship with Magic Mike." Santana continued.

"That's not true," Rachel argued. "We simply agreed that calling it a serious relationship is intimidating for both of us, and an open relationship is less demanding."

"You're Rachel Berry, you're always demanding." Santana reminded. "Face it, Berry: you want to call it an open relationship so you have an out if and when you fall off the wagon and hook up with Finnessa."

Rachel frowned. "That's ridiculous."

"Then why aren't you dating anyone else?" Santana pointed out.

"I haven't met anyone new that I'd like to date." Not a total lie.

Santana scoffed. "Really? City of your dreams, where every other guy not in a suit's a wannabe actor or musician, and you haven't met anyone you'd like to date?" She questioned.

"What about you, I don't see you dating."

"I'm broke, Berry, and unlike two McKinley queens I happen to live with, my parents won't provide me rent money for a Brooklyn loft, and unlike a certain drama queen I'm talking to right now, my dads don't let Jewish guilt provide me with unlimited funds." Santana retorted. "So, yeah: try again."

"I'm fine with Brody."

"You're waiting for Finnadequate to pull his head out of his ass and come crawling back," Santana argued. "Which, what even? You can't tell me he's good in the sack, because I've been there, and I doubt it."

"You don't know what our love is like." Rachel shot back.

"Your love is a high school fantasy for prepubescent idiots who think their lives would be better if they end up with the school quarterback." Santana snapped.

"You don't know anything!"

"I know it's unhealthy."

"It's not!"

"The fact that you two broke up and he's still stringing you along with stupid texts claiming he can't do stuff without you tells me it's unhealthy," Santana countered. She shook her head. "You know, it was kinda funny last year? But Q almost died because of your half-assed decisions and it stopped being funny then."

Rachel's protest died on her lips, because when it came to harsh truths, nothing was harsher than the realization that if she hadn't rushed Quinn on her way to hers and Finn's not-wedding, Quinn wouldn't have been in a near-fatal car accident.

Santana sighed, the fight leaving her at the sight of Rachel's broken expression. "Look. I don't like him. That's obvious. But if Finnessa's coming, don't do anything stupid, OK? You have a life here, and it's a good one. Maybe you're not in love with McConaughey - don't bother denying it, we both know it's true - but it doesn't mean you can't move on from Hudson. Do yourself a favor and just... not go there."

Rachel stared at her, not completely sure if she was staring at Santana because of her shock that Santana was giving her such a heartfelt plea, or because Santana had dared to say harsh truths that Rachel still wasn't prepared to hear. A part of her loved Finn, and she believed she always will, but she _had_ been avoiding his calls and ignoring his texts the past two weeks. She knew how easy it was to fall back to old habits, and she didn't put it past herself to not-quite-so-casually mention that Jesse was in New York just to get a rise out of him, or maybe to force Finn's hand about his ambivalence about the big city.

And there's Jesse. She had come to the conclusion that she wanted Jesse, more than she wanted Brody, but she was beginning to think that maybe Jesse didn't want her. She wasn't sure if that was one of the reasons why she was so intrigued by this new version of Jesse. He was like the Jesse she knew, but he didn't seem to be as interested in her as he used to be. He had matured, and he wasn't as easily swept up in the push-and-pull of his relationship with Rachel. He was still connected to her, but he refused to be hooked. And Rachel had never been one to turn her back on a challenge.

And there was Brody, who was a nice guy but ultimately not someone she saw herself really lasting long with. He was fun, and he was attentive; sweet and kind. But she wasn't heavily invested in their relationship. She was afraid to even consider if she would have been so willing to take him back if he had gone and slept with a girl other than Cassandra July - she was honest enough to acknowledge that the thrill of being chosen over Ms. July had been an ego boost.

Her life was a mess.

Rachel's introspection in the relative privacy of her "room" was interrupted by a soft knock on the shelf that served as a divider between her bedroom and the rest of the living room. She looked up and saw Kurt standing there. "Hi, Kurt."

Kurt gave her a faint smile. "Santana texted me, about Finn. How are you doing?"

"As can be expected, I suppose." Rachel admitted. She slumped back against her headboard. "Did you tell him he could come?"

"And have him ask me questions about Adam when Blaine is still sulking in Lima?" Kurt reminded, his tone dry. "Obviously."

Rachel gave him a wry smile. "Obviously."

Kurt was sympathetic. "I can tell him not to come."

"And have him bombard us with endless questions on why." Rachel reminded. "I look forward to it already."

Kurt smiled, and sat down on the bed facing her. "You've been sulking here all afternoon."

"Santana."

"Enough said." Kurt noted. "Where is our resident Scary Spice, anyway?"

"She had an audition of some kind in a bar." Rachel told him. "I offered for us to come see her, but she said it wasn't our kind of place."

"Fifties-themed diner, right?"

"That was my guess." Rachel agreed.

"Well, it's good that she's gone." Kurt said. He took a moment, studying Rachel, before his gaze flickered briefly to the roses near the window in Rachel's room. "I have to tell you something."

"Good news, please."

"Afraid not." Kurt said weakly. "I saw Jesse St. James today."

Rachel hoped she was a better actress than she felt at that moment as she feigned curious interest. "Oh?"

"He was in NYADA! Can you believe it?" Kurt asked, obviously excited about this piece of gossip and how he was breaking the news to Rachel.

Okay. Kurt didn't know. But.

"Did you know he was in New York?" Kurt asked Rachel, leaning forward.

"What could he be doing in New York?" Rachel returned the question with one she had been wondering for weeks.

Kurt shrugged. "So weird he was in NYADA, though." He also wondered aloud, gazing out her window.

Note to self: no more visits from Jesse to NYADA.

"Since he probably knew you were going to be there." Kurt continued.

Rachel forced a smile.

Kurt turned to her. "I know you and Brody are having problems, and I haven't pushed-" Off Rachel's wry glance, he added, "-too much. But we both know that you have a tendency to fall back on what's familiar when things get... dicey."

"Is that the cool new slang, Kurt?"

Kurt shot her a glare. "You know what I mean."

She did. It was why she didn't want to talk to Finn, or Brody, and why she didn't just go and ask Jesse if he had a girlfriend. When things got, as Kurt described, "dicey", she tended to play it safe and just revert to form, go back to old habits. And at the moment, she worried that her insecurities regarding Jesse might result in her turning to Brody despite her reservations on the status of their relationship, or worse.

She didn't want to consider the "or worse".

"I know you like him. And we all know how he appeals to your narcissism." Kurt continued. "But if your paths cross..."

Rachel sighed, disbelieving that she had to have this discussion again, but with someone else, and regarding someone else. "He's a friend."

"A friend you're attracted to."

"He's very handsome." Rachel said defensively, as if it needed saying.

Kurt gave her a look.

Rachel sighed again, and said what would seem randomly innocuous but she was beginning to think about more and more. "Who's to say he would even want to get back together?"

"Rachel."

"I know, Kurt." Rachel glared at him. She knew what Kurt was trying to say, about her and Jesse and the see-saw and magnetic pull that was their relationship, but she didn't want to hear about it. Not now.

"Do you?" Kurt pressed.

Rachel looked at him. She had to know one thing. "Would it be so bad, though? Jesse's not that bad."

"He's not that good, either."

Rachel couldn't help but frown. "Why don't you like him?"

Kurt gave her a pointed look. "Do I need to give reasons?"

Rachel shrugged.

"Well, in case you've forgotten, he egged you. He spied on us. He left us right before Regionals and set us up for failure. He tried to turn us against each other before Nationals in New York. He coached Vocal Adrenaline." Kurt enumerated. "He's not a good guy, Rachel."

Rachel studied him, hearing and listening to Kurt's explanation, but finding nothing of real substance to his assertion. Yes, Jesse had done all those things. Yes, Jesse had hurt her before. But he had been decent enough to apologize for his transgressions. He knew his faults, and he faced up to them so he could look her in the eye unflinchingly. He could admit his flaws. He had done all those things, but that didn't mean he wasn't a good guy.

And she knew now that Kurt was her best friend, and hated being judged, but he was not above passing his own judgment without knowing everything.

It wasn't his fault: he didn't know Jesse the way she did. All New Directions saw - had ever seen - was the guy who went after their lead performer and wooed his way into her life, only to turn around and go back to his team of automatons. They didn't know what he had done to earn her trust, the way he had made her feel special; how one year after he left so unceremoniously he had given her a heartfelt apology, tried to earn his way back into her heart.

They didn't know that just a few weeks ago, she had asked him for help and he had come through.

This was the problem when you wanted everything too much and let your heart lead your life.

She was a mess.

Even though her classes were going well and she was apparently good enough to be working alongside Jesse St. James and Claire Beaumont. She was getting along with Kurt and despite Santana's lack of sense for privacy, she knew she could count on the Hispanic girl.

But as usual, her heart was causing chaos in her life.

Usually when that happened she curled up in bed and went on a Barbra marathon with her dads. After all, when in doubt, turn to Barbra.

She couldn't turn to Kurt, and go on a trashy reality TV binge/marathon, not when she knew how he felt about Jesse and how he was related to Finn.

So instead she decided she needed time away from New York. To recharge. To prepare herself for the upcoming invasion of Finn Hudson into her carefully-crafted life in New York City.

She still hadn't gotten over the events of his last visit.

There was one person she could turn to now, to talk to. Someone who had turned out to be one of few people to be able to talk to her and understand her so clearly, tell her the truth without forcing her hand. Someone she could talk to honestly, whose judgment she trusted, even when she didn't want to hear it.

Rachel never imagined she would see the day that the only person she could imagine turning to would be Quinn Fabray.


	12. Chapter 12

New Haven was not the major city that New York was, and it didn't have that hectic pace that seemed to characterize the city she loved. It was quiet, and peaceful; there was an energy to it that was quite different from New York, but not quite as dead as Lima had been.

She could appreciate why it was called "New Haven" and why Quinn would like it there.

Quinn Fabray had gone through several incarnations in the time Rachel had known her in high school: head cheerleader, head bitch in charge, Christ Crusader, Celibacy Club president, pregnant teen, Glee Club spy, post-pregnancy proto-Quinn, Skank. But none of those incarnations seemed to fit her quite like Yale student Quinn Fabray, because the girl who was waiting at the bus stop near the Yale campus was definitely the most relaxed version of Quinn Rachel had ever seen.

Rachel couldn't help but find it amusing that the head cheerleader she had once known, the girl who had the entire student population of William McKinley High School serve at her command, had hauled ass to the bus stop to meet the girl she had once tortured on a near-daily basis. And the very same girl greeted Rachel with a bear hug that the ice queen head cheerleader would never have tolerated from anyone when they were in high school.

The irony was that they were each other's angels and demons, even after everything they had been through.

Or maybe it was because of their past that their friendship was what it was now.

Rachel accepted the hug, finding comfort in the tight hold, because if she were to be honest, she really needed someone to hold her right now.

"Do I guess?" Quinn asked softly, as she began to loosen her arms from around Rachel.

"You cannot begin to imagine." Rachel returned, as they pulled away from each other.

Quinn smiled at Rachel, her gaze flickering over the smaller girl. "You're growing out your bangs."

Rachel smiled. "And you've cut your hair."

Quinn laughed. "It came to my attention that I was styling it too closely to Fabray approval."

Rachel laughed, as well. "Old pictures of your mom?"

"And my sister." Quinn shuddered. "Nightmares: they were had."

Rachel smiled at her. "Sorry about visiting on such short notice."

"Just be lucky my roommate's gone for the weekend and you'll have your own bed to stay on." Quinn replied. "It's the weekend before midterms, so we won't run out of options of parties to crash."

Rachel glanced at her. "But you hate parties."

"Yes, but you're obviously looking for a distraction." Quinn returned.

Rachel still cannot believe that Quinn Fabray knew her so well. Although as Quinn once admitted to her, she had paid attention mostly in the "know thy enemy" approach to getting to know her. Rachel was just amused that Quinn had made more effort in the endeavor than Finn ever did.

"Are you OK to walk?" Quinn asked. "It's a bit hard to get a taxi this time of night, and it's Friday."

"I can walk." Rachel assured her, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

"Not for anything, but were you expecting to stay longer than the weekend?" Quinn asked, taking note of Rachel's rather large overnight bag.

Rachel shrugged. "I didn't get the chance to check the weather report for Connecticut before I got on the train."

"So you packed everything?" Quinn joked. She studied the girl with a sympathetic look. "That looks heavy. Do you need help?"

"I'm used to carrying a lot of stuff." Rachel assured her. She regarded Quinn. "Besides, should you be carrying heavy things this close to winter?"

Quinn smiled, and inclined her head in acknowledgment of the query. "My back and leg still ache from time to time, but, yeah, mostly in severe cold. It's not a problem, right now. Thanks for asking."

Rachel smiled faintly. She knew Quinn had changed from being the HBIC she once knew when Quinn never accused her of being at fault for her car accident roughly this time last year. It should have been easy to blame her, but Quinn never did. It had strained her relationship for a little while, with Rachel blaming herself for having rushed Quinn to the point that Quinn hadn't seen the truck coming, but they had cleared the air very quickly.

"Have you had dinner?" Quinn asked, leading Rachel to her campus.

"I had a wrap on the train," Rachel answered. "You?"

"I had a sandwich, but if you're still hungry there's a place that delivers that has vegan pizza."

"Oh," Rachel smiled weakly, "I'm not vegan anymore."

Quinn glanced at her, and Rachel could feel her discerning gaze. Finally, with a hint of amusement, she said jokingly, "Please tell me it was for cheese."

Rachel laughed. "That was a major contributing factor."

Quinn grinned. "I have to admit, I'm relieved. I tried vegan mac and cheese a week ago and it was..."

"Disgusting?" Rachel guessed, still grinning.

"An acquired taste." Quinn allowed.

Rachel's laughter broke into the night. "That's a nice way of putting it."

Quinn grinned back.

They entered the campus, and Rachel laughed as she took in the walls and architecture surrounding her. "Gosh, Quinn, this place is certainly pretentious."

"Oh, like the hallowed halls of NYADA is any different." Quinn said dryly.

"But this!" Rachel glanced around, awed. "I already feel smarter."

"That's probably what they're going for." Quinn noted. "It's actually listed in the miscellaneous fees of our tuition: 'pretense of increased intelligence'."

"You definitely get what you pay for." Rachel observed. "You're doing OK here?"

"It's better than Lima." Quinn admitted. "It's hard, but I'd rather be killing myself in my classes than dying of boredom in OSU."

"I know what you mean." Rachel agreed.

"Yeah, your email mentioned you were working with a ballerina?" Quinn prompted. "How's that going?"

"Intense." Rachel admitted. "Did you ever study ballet?"

"Briefly." Quinn related. "I was more into gymnastics."

"I took ballet, too, but this girl, Claire? She's amazing." Rachel gushed. "She's like Natalie Portman in the Black Swan, but without the crazy."

Quinn glanced at her. "Why is she crazy?"

"She's just... This is her whole life. She's planned out her entire life from the moment she decided she wanted to be a professional dancer."

"That's a bad thing?" Quinn asked, curious.

"No, but can you imagine having that kind of no margin for error?" Rachel asked.

Quinn smiled wryly. "I was pretty sure I was going to end up becoming a realtor, so that goes to show you how much I know."

Rachel laughed.

"But you know," Quinn added, hooking her arm through Rachel's, "there's a lot to be admired about someone who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to do what it takes to get it."

* * *

Rachel didn't want to talk about it, and Quinn didn't want to push. The next day, after Quinn finished her homework - Rachel helped, it was for Literature and about Shakespeare and Rachel had an entire module dedicated to Shakespeare - they spent the entire day doing mundane things around Yale: going to the museum, visiting coffee shops around the area, enjoying the local shops that were usually found in university towns that Rachel didn't get to enjoy in New York.

It was the distraction Rachel needed, especially since she and Quinn had elected to leave her phone in Quinn's dorm room, so nothing and nobody from New York could force her to face up to what she had momentarily left behind.

Not that it wasn't far from her mind, especially when she saw a poster to A Chorus Line in one of the thrift stores she and Quinn had gone into.

Honestly, if anyone in Lima knew that Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray were going into thrift shops looking for old books and records, they would probably think it was a joke. But the two of them shared a love for old records and classic literature, and even back in Lima, the summer before their junior year saw them as regular fixtures in the only thrift shop in their home town.

"Do you even own a record player?" Quinn asked, as they sorted through their shopping bags back in Quinn's dorm room. She knew Rachel's dads had one in Lima, but she didn't recall seeing one in the New York apartment when she had last been in New York.

"No." Rachel pouted, as she examined one of her purchased records. "But how often will I find Barbra records?"

Quinn conceded that point, checking her phone for messages. She glanced at Rachel. "Ready to talk about it yet?"

"No."

Quinn acquiesced. "Quiet night in?"

Rachel paused, indicating a reluctance to do just that. "Or?"

"Or attend one of the handful of parties around campus." Quinn admitted.

"And here I was hoping for a Jodie Foster clambake." Rachel quipped. She laughed at Quinn's exasperated expression. "By the way, were you aware Santana has been retelling that story insisting you were being, and I quote, 'initiated'?"

"Do I want to know?" Quinn asked tiredly. She had learned to be wary when the name Santana Lopez was attached to any anecdote.

"Maybe not."

"I'll take your word for it." Quinn arched an eyebrow at the brunette. "So? Party?"

"Party." Rachel nodded.

Quinn knew better than to argue. Her relationship with Rachel was often confrontational, but they also knew that sometimes it was better to wait it out and let the other decide when they were ready to talk. "Party it is."

* * *

Stupid Berry.

Quinn glanced around the crowded room, ignoring the many admiring looks from the frat boys she usually avoided like the plague, scanning faces for her missing friend. Quinn had wanted the distraction of a party, while Rachel had insisted on going to the loudest party they could find. Even so, she knew she shouldn't have listened to Rachel and gone to this frat house: she only knew a handful of members (three), and only one was someone she didn't mind knowing. (The other two halfway decent, but she wouldn't be lining up to be a character witness for them.) But Rachel had given Quinn her best doe-eyed puppy-dog face and her best pout, and Quinn had caved like she always did, ever since she and Rachel had become friends.

Quinn really hoped she didn't show just how desperate she felt, not knowing where Rachel was in this party.

But, seriously: how hard was it for Rachel to obey the simple command to stay near the patio doors, while Quinn went to get them drinks? And _of course_ Rachel had chosen to wear one of her obscenely short skirts, despite Quinn warning her that Yale's frat boys were just as prone to douchebaggery as any frat boy anywhere else.

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, and allowed herself a brief moment to enjoy her once again shortened hair, a gift she'd given herself when she'd dumped that asshole of a Psych professor when she had realized he used his "leaving his wife" line on many unsuspecting freshmen. At least she had dumped him before he could follow it up with the line about how he had to think about his kids.

Quinn checked her phone, and tried once more to dial Rachel's phone. Still voice mail. She growled under her breath. "Berry."

She was frustrated, but she was also very concerned. Rachel had been in New Haven for all of twenty-four hours, and Quinn still didn't have answers as to why Rachel had called her up Friday night to ask if she could "come over". As if travelling from New York to Connecticut was a hop, skip and jump away (it wasn't). She had been tempted several times to just call Rachel's roommates and ask why, but her entire friendship with Rachel was sacred, and their entire reason for being was that they had a trust that could not be breached by other people. So Quinn knew she had no choice but to wait it out.

Quinn felt, more than saw, someone sidle up to her. A brief glance informed her that she recognized him from her Economics class and a fraternity brother of the house. She turned back to her phone, willing it to connect with Rachel's.

"Hi."

Quinn ignored him.

"You look familiar."

No shit, Sherlock.

"I've been watching you from across the room and I thought to myself, that girl's really hot."

Quinn paused. She straightened, and slowly turned to face him. She did not miss his slow smirk of victory of getting her attention. "No."

His smile didn't even falter. "Look, you don't need to play hard-to-get, you're just prolonging the inevitable."

She would say this about the assholes of Yale University: they were a lot more verbally eloquent than the cro-magnons she had attended high school with. "No."

"But-"

Quinn's wary expression immediately hardened to the ice queen killer bitch glare that she had practiced and honed throughout high school. She gave him a deadly once-over, her disdain dripping out of every pore. "No."

"Come on, you-"

Quinn upped her glare to a level 10. "Go. Away. Now."

He scoffed, but he turned and walked away.

Quinn distinctly heard him mutter the words "frigid ice queen virgin" under his breath.

Her favorite part about New Haven was that nobody knew about her high school indiscretion and the life-altering events that followed.

Quinn paused, and shook her head in bemusement as she realized she should have known where to look for Rachel in the first place.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this." Quinn teased, leaning against the door jamb.

Rachel, seated at the edge of a bath tub full of ice and drinks, looked up from her careful study of the bathroom tiles. She smiled faintly at the blonde. "With everything changing, some traditions should be kept."

Quinn smiled and closed the door behind her as she moved to sit beside Rachel. She glanced around the room. "This is definitely the most disgusting location yet."

Rachel giggled. "I don't know, the underside of the McKinley bleachers gives this a run for its money."

"Hey, that place had its charm." Quinn defended the Skanks' hangout spot.

"Charm. Singular." Rachel reminded. "And I do believe that began and ended with your pink hair."

Quinn smirked. "So you _did_ like the pink hair."

Rachel smiled. "It had its merits."

Quinn smiled back.

Rachel's smile slowly faded, and she glanced down at her feet. "Finn's coming to New York."

Quinn grimaced. "Ugh. Why?"

"Can you believe it's a long story?"

"Longer than he shot himself in the foot and got himself discharged from boot camp?" Quinn asked, only half-jokingly. She, Santana and Brittany had found that endlessly amusing. "What did that idiot do now?"

"Quinn." Rachel's tone was admonishing: it was an idiotic move, she agreed, but she disapproved of any name-calling.

"What did he do?" Quinn asked, even as she turned to inspect the contents of the bath tub. She brightened as she spotted, and subsequently plucked out, a bottle of fruit-flavored cocktail vodka. She largely disliked the over-privileged frat boys of this particular fraternity, but she had to admit that they usually came from money and certainly knew their alcohol, even if it had a relatively low alcohol content.

Rachel shook her head, and sighed. Honestly, where to start? "Mr. Schuester had him direct the group at Sectionals."

"I know. I was there." Quinn opened the bottle, and took a sip. She winced at the burn, but she decided that she definitely approved of the taste. "Not the brightest idea Schue's ever had, but then he kept taking away your solos."

Rachel had to smile, since it was always a revelation to her when Quinn would admit just how much she really admired Rachel and Rachel's singing talent. "Well, so you must have heard about their Sectionals disqualification."

"You mean their defeat," Quinn noted, taking another sip and handing the bottle to Rachel. "You shouldn't mince words like that, the meaning gets lost that way."

"Technically, they didn't lose."

"Technically, they were going to, because there's no way they were going to place with the inanity that was Gangnam Style." Quinn objected, watching Rachel take a sip of the alcohol. She grinned when she saw Rachel wince. "Good, huh?"

"I'm partial to wine." Rachel admitted. "Although Jesse's been making noise about alcohol and my vocal cords."

Quinn's eyebrow arched into orbit at the mention of the familiar name, but she didn't say a word.

Rachel didn't notice. "Anyway, apparently Blaine and Sam have been doing some investigating in their free time, and they discovered an anomaly in The Warblers' performance. According to Kurt, they've been taking some performance-enhancing drugs."

"_That's_ why that glorified boyband got disqualified?" Quinn asked incredulously. She took a longer, more deliberate drink of the vodka. "What does all that have to do with Finnane?"

"He might have implied that in light of Dalton's disqualification, McKinley would be moving forward to Regionals."

Rachel watched as Quinn's beautiful face scrunched up. "But they were disqualified."

"Hence the problem."

Quinn frowned. "He didn't just 'imply', did he? He told them."

Rachel nodded. "Yes."

"Moron." Quinn muttered. "So, what? He's running to New York to hide from the pitchforks and torches? I think Sue's already told Kitty where those are hidden."

Rachel stared at Quinn for a second, before dismissing the latter part of the blonde's statement. She had learned to ignore anything Cheerio-related due to possible trauma. "That's our guess."

"You're obviously not jumping with joy at this development." Quinn observed dryly. "And I bet Santana must be _thrilled_."

"We'd tell him not to, but Kurt and I both know he'd just keep whining until he gets his way." Rachel admitted, fidgeting with the bottle for a moment before she took a drink. "Honestly, we don't know what to do. Santana hates him, Kurt knows he hangs out with Blaine, and I'm busy with school."

Quinn hummed her agreement. "Plus you're dating that guy."

'That guy'. Rachel glanced at Quinn. "His name is Brody."

"Just be glad I'm not giving him a nickname."

Rachel smiled weakly. "Santana calls him Ken Doll."

"He does look mentally vacant." Quinn agreed. "But you do the horizontal with him, so it's anatomically incompatible."

"Santana also calls him Manwhore 2000."

Quinn snorted indelicately. She coughed to cover it up. "That's..."

"Accurate, it turns out."

Quinn glanced at her, curious.

Rachel sighed. "I found out from Claire that he takes the 'open' part of our relationship seriously."

"Well..." Quinn began slowly. How were you supposed to tell someone nicely that a lot of guys would jump at the chance to screw around behind their girlfriend's back, especially when given permission?

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'd hoped that because he was this nice guy that he wouldn't do that. I just assumed that..." Rachel let her voice trail off. "I guess I should have expected it."

Quinn turned to look at the brunette. "You _did_ tell the guy you were in an open relationship."

"But..." Rachel paused, then looked away, embarrassed.

Quinn frowned. "Rachel?"

There was a long silence, before Rachel's soft voice asked brokenly, "It's me, isn't it?"

"What's you?" Quinn asked cluelessly.

"I wasn't enough."

"Rachel..."

Rachel looked at her. "Did you know he slept with my dance teacher when we were starting our relationship?"

"That's really a thing, I guess..." Quinn mumbled, hating herself even more now for being such a cliché and sleeping with her professor.

"And now Santana's calling me out for even _being_ in an open, casual relationship, and Jesse himself pointed out that I've never learned to share, how can I expect to be in such a relationship, and... what?" Rachel asked, seeing Quinn's furrowed brow.

"I'm a little more on the drunk scale than I am sober, and I'm a believer of letting the narrative play out but," Quinn frowned, slightly disappointed that she wasn't nearly drunk enough for this while also hoping she was a little more sober for Rachel's apparent breakdown. "That's the second time you've mentioned Jesse St. James. If he _is_ the Jesse you keep bringing up."

"The one and only." Rachel muttered.

Quinn placed her right hand on her temple, and rubbed. "Okay. Tradition or not, we're not continuing this conversation in this STD cesspool." She got to her feet, and offered her hand to Rachel.

Rachel took the offered hand, and allowed Quinn to pull her up to a standing position. She giggled when she saw Quinn wasn't relinquishing the vodka. "The presence of alcohol is ironic, since we both don't have pleasant memories of drinking."

Quinn laughed. "You don't expect me to talk about Finnbecile and Jesse St. Jackass sober, do you?"

"No nickname for Brody?" Rachel teased.

"NYADA Ken isn't worthy of being discussed." Quinn said flatly. "And you're obviously dumping him soon, anyway."

"You don't know that."

"Rachel, any guy who doesn't appreciate you or know your true value isn't worth keeping around." Quinn told her. "And you might not believe me now, but him dating other girls isn't because you're not enough, but because he's an idiot. Trust me."

Rachel had to smile. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Quinn nodded firmly. She opened the door, and led Rachel out. "But, before all else: Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

"No Run Joey Run videos this time, OK?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Can I just admit how amazed I am that you managed to keep something as metaphorically huge as Jesse St. James from the gossip mongering Kurt Hummel and the investigative skills of Santana Lopez?" Quinn asked, lifting her cup of vodka to 'toast' Rachel, who sat across from her in the space between the two beds in her dorm room, the two of them leaning against one side of each bed. "Brava, Rachel Berry. Brava."

Rachel raised her own cup to acknowledge Quinn's admiration. She had told Quinn the whole story, from her professor's suggestion to find someone to work with, up to events just a day previous, when Jesse didn't question either of her song choices. Quinn had listened attentively, and Rachel had to admit that it was a welcome relief that Quinn didn't seem to need to ask too many questions, especially as to why the choice of songs were important.

For her part, Quinn knew Rachel needed to get some things off her chest before she exploded from having too many _feelings_. One would be inclined to think that someone shouldn't be so overwhelmingly inclined to be controlled by their emotions, but Quinn actually admired that about Rachel, even though the brunette's emotions tended to steer her wayward, but Quinn supposed that was just a natural consequence to being Rachel Berry.

As for Rachel's current dilemma? As someone who had somehow managed to inaccurately gain the reputation as a serial cheater back in high school (twice hardly counted as serial), Quinn had to admit that Rachel was in way over her head in regards to her romantic entanglements. She couldn't attest to anything Finn-related, because once she had grown out of her obsession with being one half of her high school's top couple and being crowned Prom Queen, she readily acknowledged that Finn Hudson was not a particularly good catch. The jock was generally a nice guy, even though his moments of stupidity were fairly often and sometimes mean-spirited and misguided, but his main fault as far as Quinn was concerned was that he mostly selfish and basically an idiot. He lacked ambition and basically did enough just to get by, but his worst trait was that he actually believed his own PR when he - and pretty much everyone around him - told him he was wonderful, even though all evidence pointed to the contrary.

But Rachel loved him, and had even been ready to marry the dolt. Yes, it was mostly out of fear and insecurity, but they had been ready to take that step. The thing was, and Quinn never dared to say this out loud to anyone, especially Rachel, but the entire Finn/Rachel dynamic was so deeply flawed that it led to complete self-destruction for both individuals. Rachel had had to give up so much of herself to fit into Finn's life, while Finn never learned to grow up and try harder to be a better person. Proof of it was that even now, even though they have been separated for nearly a year, Rachel still felt compelled to help Finn and he still felt as if she owed him her attention.

In that respect, even though she was wary of Brody Weston and his too-smooth personality when she had met him, she had to like him better than Finn. At least he readily acknowledged the wonder that was Rachel Berry's talent, and he saw Rachel as an equal. A naïve and rather guileless equal, but he respected her and acknowledged that she could make her own decisions, as well as admit to his own mistakes.

Had she suspected there was something fishy about their "open relationship"? Sure. She had never entirely bought the reasoning that he had a difficult past with his former girlfriend - people got dumped for random reasons every day, she didn't understand why he had been so traumatized - but knew that the decision to define the relationship so casually was ultimately Rachel's. Did she agree with Santana that it was a ready out for Rachel in the event she fell back into bed with Finn? Maybe a little. After all, she had watched Rachel fall back into a relationship with Finn Hudson so many times just because she was lonely and Finn was an easy catch; despite knowing they were ultimately heading to vastly differing futures. She couldn't fault him, not really, for sticking to the definition of an open relationship since it was obvious from the start that Rachel didn't want too serious a commitment either.

And now there was Jesse St. James. Someone who had once played Rachel with the deft and skill of the most talented of musicians, but had come crawling back a year later. She didn't like him very much - he had always been too arrogant for her taste even if she could appreciate his aesthetic value - but she understood the appeal of Jesse St. James, especially for Rachel: he understood her, he spoke her language. He was the good-looking popular boy every girl fantasized about, and he didn't find singing and dancing to the top an anomaly. He was Rachel's perfect leading man.

She didn't like him, but Quinn could identify with St. James: he'd had a job to do and he hadn't been afraid to do what it took to accomplish it. As Sue Sylvester's erstwhile spy and primary antagonist bent on the destruction of the Glee Club, Quinn could identify with the ruthlessness of going after the heart and soul of the New Directions. _She_ hadn't been strong enough to do it; she wasn't surprised that the lead of Vocal Adrenaline could.

They were supposed to be ruthless and cruel, and strike without fear of any repercussions, but they had both hesitated when it came to hurting Rachel. Quinn had paused because she saw in Rachel Berry a girl that could have been her best friend had she been raised differently, had she not allowed her upbringing as the youngest daughter of the hate-mongering Russell Fabray taint her personality. She had ultimately backed off, because she knew that even if she turned her back on Sue Sylvester's commands, give up her status as Head Cheerio, she could fall back on the support (if not exactly friendship) of the Glee Club.

Jesse had not been given that option. He was the enemy, as far as the New Directions were concerned, and he hadn't had the luxury of letting the respect and camaraderie grow organically. He had been the lead of Vocal Adrenaline, and he had been the pawn of too many conflicting forces. Shelby Corcoran had used him to get to Rachel, and when Shelby turned her back on Rachel, Quinn was certain that he hadn't really had a choice but to follow her lead. And his precious victory lap. Quinn knew from her cheerleading experience that scholarships don't just fall from the sky, and those things usually came with strings. She had always suspected that his UCLA scholarship had been contingent on Vocal Adrenaline's showing at Nationals.

And now she was tasked with the job as Rachel's friend to highlight all of this without Rachel reaching breaking point.

She liked her friendship with Rachel, more than her friendships with anyone else, because it forced her to think things through instead of aiming for the jugular first and apologizing later. That was how their relationship used to be, and Quinn had to make the conscious effort not to be so harsh or mean with Rachel. And in return, Quinn got the unconditional friendship she had always yearned for.

Yes, their relationship history was spotty, especially since she used to be Rachel's main bully, Rachel's actions didn't always encourage trustworthiness, and they had dated the same two boys in high school. But Rachel could talk her off her metaphorical ledge, and she wasn't afraid to ask the hard questions.

"Why Jesse?"

"He understands me, Quinn." Rachel said earnestly. "It's like being in a room full of people talking, and you know they're all talking in English but nobody seems to be making sense, and then suddenly there's this one voice that speaks and you understand everything."

Quinn gave her a look. "I was thinking about the fact that you told me Shelby's in New York, too, but you chose your estranged ex-boyfriend to help coach you."

_Shelby._ An uncomfortable topic, for both of them.

Rachel glanced at Quinn, her gaze soft, empathetic. "It was her birthday last week."

_Her._ No need for Rachel to specify who she was, since there was only one reason to mention anything to Quinn, and that was Beth. Quinn tried not to think about _her_ too much, especially since Shelby had decided after the disastrous events of last year that it was better if Beth first only knew of her birth parents in the abstract: names on cards and presents and the occasional phone call, not of any real presence in her life. Which Quinn could understand, even though she hated knowing such a big part of her was out in the world and not being able to be a part of her life.

"You know, I'm due for coffee with Shelby." Rachel commented. "I could ask her if you and Beth can join us."

Quinn laughed lightly. "It's amazing how you still have the subtlety of a ton of bricks."

Rachel pouted.

Quinn placated her with a soft smile. "I'd like that."

Rachel smiled brightly.

However, Quinn was not so easily distracted. "Have you told Shelby you're working with St. James?"

Rachel gave her a confused look. "Why would I?"

Quinn stared at her for a full beat, trying to discern whether or not Rachel was being deliberately obtuse, before she sighed in defeat. "Yeah. Why would you."

Rachel watched her take a sip from her cup of vodka, and proceeded to take a drink of her own. She let the taste linger, before she sighed in a forlorn manner.

Quinn was just glad Rachel wasn't all-out bawling yet, even though there had been some hints of tears throughout her narrative.

Rachel sighed again. "I don't know what to do."

"You could just talk to him, instead of guessing all the time."

Rachel waved off the suggestion dismissively. "If he understood me so well, we wouldn't need to talk about it."

Quinn's confusion regarding that statement showed on her face. If that statement was supposed to make sense, she didn't get it.

"Besides, I've clearly been acting out of my usual character and he hasn't made any kind of note or comment on it." Rachel continued. "He obviously hasn't noticed, or if he had, he doesn't care."

"Or maybe he figures you're doing it for a reason and refuses to take the bait." Quinn remarked.

"Jesse St. James is well and capable of making up his own mind and he has given no inclination whatsoever to indicate I am more than just a friend and student."

"He _did_ give you roses."

"Pink and white, Quinn." Rachel reminded.

"He gave you enough thought to reserve a bouquet of flowers. Just for you." Quinn argued.

"While someone else got red roses."

"So?"

"So there's someone else, Quinn!" Rachel exclaimed. "I've been friend-zoned!"

"You don't know that."

"Why else would he have red roses?" Rachel challenged.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're over-thinking this."

"Well, what choice do I have?" Rachel scoffed. "Ask him?"

Quinn knew better than to answer that trap of a question. "I'm just saying that maybe you should consider the fact that he could have easily just ignored your text message but instead he's investing time and effort into helping you."

"Exactly my point." Rachel reiterated. "Friend-zoned."

"You realize that word doesn't get any less ridiculous each time you say it."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Except it's true."

"Rachel, no offense, but if St. James really is in New York for reasons beyond being in the same state as you, he's actually taking time out of his schedule just to be around you." Quinn pointed out. "He might not be in it for purely platonic reasons."

Rachel opened her mouth to argue, but promptly shut it again, her lips forming a pout.

"And, you know how we all like to say that Jesse appeals to you for narcissistic reasons?" Quinn asked, pouring more vodka into her cup.

"People actually say that?" Rachel wondered.

"Well, maybe you should consider that maybe he actually _does_ like you romantically, except you're stuck between your relationship with Brody and whatever's going on with you and Finn." Quinn noted, drinking from her cup. She looked up, and noticed Rachel's puzzled expression. "Rachel, he took a time out when you did that Run Joey Run video. He obviously doesn't like to share just as much you do."

"He was really hurt by that video," Rachel professed.

"See?" Quinn highlighted.

"So..." Rachel's brow furrowed. "You're saying he's keeping things platonic while I'm still in a relationship with Brody?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Quinn shrugged. "It's a working hypothesis."

"But..." Rachel began, paused, and continued, "how will I know?"

"If he really loves you?" Quinn joked, before she caught herself. She shot Rachel a playful glare. "You and your glee club influence, making me finish sentences with lyrics."

"Well," Rachel grinned, "I _am_ asking you what you know about these things."

Quinn tried to frown, really, but she found the situation so ridiculous and absurd, especially in her drunken state, and she found herself giggling uncontrollably. "Oh my God. You've ruined me, Rachel Berry."

"So says the life ruiner Quinn Fabray." Rachel retorted, giggling as well.

"God, just..." Quinn struggled to regain composure, well aware that they were actually having a serious conversation. She took a deep breath, and when she was sure she had her giggles under control, made her spiel. "Rachel, St. James has a lot going for him. Maybe that wasn't so obvious when he dropped out of UCLA and trawling a high school in Ohio for a date, but he's obviously capable of getting his life together enough to end up in New York and I'm guessing not as someone homeless. The fact that he takes the time to entertain you and your insanity on a regular basis is reason enough for you to make the effort."

"I _am_ making an effort!" Rachel protested.

Quinn scoffed. "You're not. You want him to want you, but you're not willing to dump Brody or cut Finn from your life."

Rachel frowned. "You said that Finn and I are meant to be."

Quinn found that there wasn't enough indignation in the world to accurately capture the sentiment behind her scoff at that statement. "We were graduating. I figured I might as well tell you what you wanted to hear at least once before we left high school."

"So..."

"No, Rachel, I don't believe that for a second." Quinn filled in when Rachel's voice trailed off.

"So why are you making the case for Jesse?" Rachel asked curiously.

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I can relate? I mean, I didn't want to say we were friends while I wasn't sure I'd ever choose our friendship over my social status, or that you would ever choose me over anyone else. Maybe Jesse doesn't want to try for being more than your friend since you're not exactly available to him."

Rachel paused, the word "available" pinging in her head, even in her slightly inebriated state. She remembered that word, it was important. Why?

"I mean, it would clear up the question of whether or not you actually just want him because he doesn't seem to want you."

"I guess." Rachel concurred. She sighed.

Quinn returned her wry smile, knowing that despite their drunken state, they have somehow managed to get Rachel to take a more proactive stance on her impasse with Jesse St. James. "We should have been friends earlier, Rachel Berry. We could have saved each other a whole lot of heartache."

"I don't think we could have been friends any sooner than we did." Rachel admitted.

Quinn gave a small murmur of agreement. "I resented you too much."

"And I was too self-involved." Rachel agreed.

They both fell silent, acknowledging and being grateful that they have both grown as people enough to actually become friends.

"You know what you should do," Quinn said, breaking the silence.

Rachel hummed, nodding to herself. "I need to talk to Jesse."

Quinn paused, before she giggled. "Well, yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of you need to lessen the drama in your life and dump your not-quite boyfriend before all this blows up in your face."

"I think I've been doing well so far."

Quinn snorted her incredulity but chose not to say it out loud. "It's just going to get harder from here. Santana has started going through your things. Kurt knows Jesse's in New York and Finn's about to squat in your apartment."

Rachel conceded that point.

"Not to mention: from my experience? These kinds of things tend to blow up beyond anyone's expectations."

Rachel looked up at the blonde. "I suppose I should expect the worst, given my highly dramatic nature."

Quinn gave her a wan smile. "Maybe."

"I just..." Rachel paused, and sighed. "I still haven't told anyone else about everything. I don't know if I'll be able to deal with it. And with Finn there?"

"Hey." Quinn used her foot to gently nudge Rachel's leg. "My midterms are only until Wednesday, and there's nothing important on Friday. I can be in New York by Thursday."

Rachel gave her a hopeful smile. "You would do that?"

Quinn nodded. "Just keep yourself together until I get there. Think you can do that?"

Rachel nodded.


	14. Chapter 14

Brody Weston was a nice guy. He was tall, he was reasonably good-looking, he was athletically-built and well-groomed. He was polite, chivalrous, and considerate. He played sports, but he was also a talented singer and dancer. He was generally well-liked, and people easily got along with him.

Save for Claire, most people Rachel knew who also knew Brody generally seemed to like him. He was involved in a lot of clubs around school, and was a popular upperclassman who was known for his reputation as being very approachable.

As a boyfriend, he was attentive, sweet and caring. He gave Rachel the time and attention she needed, and he wasn't out to monopolize her time. He took her out on dates; and he had passable knowledge on music and theater, enough to carry a conversation with Rachel.

He was a sweet guy, and a good boyfriend.

But even Rachel knew that it was a shallow assessment of Brody: she was well aware that she hadn't really been looking deeper.

Like the fact that his friends had given him a makeover when he first got to New York: she hadn't asked to see any of his 'Before' pictures. She had never wondered what had he been like in high school: Did he like growing up in Montana? Had he always wanted to go to New York? What had it been like, to grow up in Montana intent on growing up to become a professional dancer? They had shared childhood stories, but she didn't know who his favorite musicians were after he grew out of his Ace of Base phase.

She didn't know why he called up his mom and sister every week, only that he did. She thought it was sweet, but if she were to be asked how old his sister was, she couldn't say for sure.

And, of course, there was the unnamed ex-girlfriend. The girl who had dumped him not soon after they went to their respective colleges. There were obvious questions - _Was there someone else? Did he see it coming? Had they been drifting apart even before? Was she the love of his life? Did he still have feelings for her?_ - but Rachel never bothered to voice them. Maybe as a defense mechanism to prevent Brody from asking her questions about Finn, or maybe to keep the girlfriend a vague shadowy figure from Brody's past. The point was, Rachel only knew Brody's high school ex-girlfriend as the girl who broke up with him out of the blue and had done it brutally enough that Brody was still wary of any serious romantic commitment, almost two years later.

Brody was a good guy.

And she knew he was a good guy because she had learned to qualify what made a person good or bad. She was, after all, friends with Noah Puckerman, who for all his good attributes, was still someone who slept with whomever he wanted for the sake of it, without any consideration for others' feelings. (She would never truly forgive him for what he did to Quinn, even if he had manned up enough to admit that he had been wrong there. And she still had him on friendship probation after she had learned he had slept with Shelby... Still gross.)

She knew Brody was a good guy because he had never really done anything to hurt her.

Yes, he had slept with Cassandra July even while knowing that she and Rachel were very adversarial, but then Rachel could understand why Cassandra had gone out of her way to crush Rachel - there was a thrill to achieving victory over a rival and Rachel could respect that as the reason why Ms. July had done it. Yes, Brody apparently also flirted and slept with a host of other girls while they had entertained the idea of a relationship, but that wasn't his fault: They hadn't really been together until Thanksgiving, and even then they agreed not to date exclusively.

They had agreed, after it had been revealed that he had slept with Cassandra July when Rachel had gone to Lima to watch Finn's directing effort of McKinley High's production of Grease, that they were both clearly not ready for anything serious, but that they _did_ enjoy dating each other. Brody didn't want to hurt her, and Rachel didn't want the responsibility of helping him out of his relationship funk. They had agreed to keep things casual, to be able to keep their options open while continuing to see each other.

Then Claire spilled the proverbial beans and Jesse had given someone else red roses.

Put together, the two events had highlighted the flaw to keeping things with Brody 'casual'. It wasn't a serious relationship , but it was a relationship nonetheless. She hadn't realized until too late that despite the lack of any real commitment, her expectations on Brody had been the same as with any of her past boyfriends. She couldn't really be surprised he dated around - she had known how much of a flirt he was from the moment she had met him: it was how they had met. Thanks to Quinn, and some deep reflection on the train ride back to New York, Rachel recognized that his flirting with other girls had little - if at all - to do with her, and just him exercising his freedom to do so. She wondered if he would stop if she were to ask; she had a feeling that he _would_, but ultimately knew she wouldn't.

Because he was just a nice guy she had been dating.

There were no show-stopping duets in their future, no heated arguments and even more heated making up. They were not going to have extremely talented children, a shelf (shelves!) full of awards, or matching calendars (or very organized personal assistants) to ensure matching days off from very busy performing schedules.

That she didn't obsess over who else he could be dating or flirting with was as much of an indicator as anything else.

Brody Weston was a Nice Guy.

And ultimately, as far as Rachel Berry was concerned, that was all he was. And that was unfair to him, because there could be some other girl who cared enough to want him and care about him and give him enough of a commitment that would make him want to _try_.

That she cared less about that hypothetical girl than she did about a bouquet of thirteen red roses was telling.

So Quinn was right. Unfortunately.

She couldn't ask for answers from Jesse when she was technically still with someone else. Brody deserved better, and so did Jesse. If she wanted Jesse, she had to show him. And for all his faults, she knew that Jesse was honest enough to tell her whether or not he was actually dating someone else, or if he was still even interested in her.

If he had really moved on, then... well... so be it. She would like to think that she was big enough to accept it, but at the very least, she wouldn't still be stringing Brody along while pining for Jesse.

The question was if she was really ready to face all these life-altering decisions, knowing Finn was coming to New York. And the short answer was no. But as Quinn pointed out, these things had a tendency to escalate and explode in epic proportions, and with midterms coming up, Rachel needed to decrease the drama in her life.

Worst case, she trusted Quinn or Santana to have acceptable plans for Spring Break. (Quinn more than Santana, because she trusted Quinn to have ideas on how to have fun that didn't include alcohol or sex, and Santana was due to start work - finally - at a location the Latina refused to divulge.)

No matter.

First things first.

She had to get her priorities in order, and this needed doing first. Even if it had meant asking Jesse to skip their Monday session and getting a seemingly non-committal text message of "If it's important" back.

This needed to be done, even if the reaction she got from Brody was confusing.

"Okay. But... why?"

_Okay?_ The word was confusing: they were breaking up, how can it be 'Okay'? But to answer his question, "I didn't realize that I wasn't as OK with you dating other girls as I thought I was." Which, while true, was just barely scratching the surface of the reasons why.

Brody looked at her across the table steadily. "If it's just that, I'm willing to try being exclusive. If you are."

She had wanted to do this quickly. Efficiently. Going against the very fiber of her being to draw it out and heighten the drama and instead cut to the chase, and not provide too many details.

Unfortunately, it turned out he was going to be scratching the surface.

Rachel straightened in her seat, and stopped herself from fidgeting with her cup of coffee.

They were in a coffee shop near the school, a quiet cafe with few people and decent coffee. Rachel liked their soy chai latte, but not enough to worry about causing a scene and not being able to show her face again. What that said about the coffee or her relationship with Brody, she didn't know.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't get it." Brody admitted. "Did I do something wrong?"

She was a ridiculous cliché. "It's not you."

He gave her a wry smile, recognizing how cringe-worthy she found that statement. "Really, Rachel?"

She didn't even have it in her to match his amusement, and merely sighed. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He only gazed at her, not saying anything.

"I thought I could handle a casual relationship." Rachel admitted softly. "I thought it was what I wanted, but I don't."

"But you don't want a serious relationship." Brody noted, his tone somber, as he watched her. His frown deepened when he saw Rachel's expression grow strained. "Or... you don't want one with me."

Rachel couldn't help but glance away at that.

"Is it someone else?" Brody asked curiously.

Moment of truth. Did she spare him his feelings or did she owe him the truth?

"I... I think there might be." Rachel admitted.

He paused, and Rachel knew he didn't know what to make of that answer. She just didn't know how else to answer without going into exhaustive detail.

"Is this because of that Finn guy?" Brody followed up.

Rachel was quiet. To be honest, the answer was yes - but not entirely. Finn was definitely a part of why she needed to break up with Brody, but he wasn't the _reason_.

Brody was silent, and Rachel assumed that Brody had taken her non-answer as a confirmation, because sometimes silence was a good enough confession.

Rachel watched him as he glanced out the window, letting the past few minutes process in his head. Her heart ached for him because she _did_ care about him. Just... not enough. She wanted to stay friends - he had been nothing but nice to her - but that felt like it would be asking for too much to want to be friends as they broke up.

She startled when Brody suddenly stood up. "Brody?"

"I need to go." Brody said, digging into his pocket for money for their coffees. He placed some bills on the table, and paused before he turned back to her. "Just so you know? I wouldn't have left your phone calls and messages unanswered for two months. Nobody deserves that."

She watched him leave the shop after that statement. She didn't dare call him back for an explanation or even really wanted one, and instead she turned back to gaze at her cup of coffee.

She wasn't sure what to make of his parting shot: whether that had been a reassurance that she deserved better than how Finn had treated her when Brody had first learned about her ex-boyfriend, or if it was a jab at how she apparently now had a tendency to leave calls and messages unanswered to avoid a confrontation.

Either way the message she deserved was clear: Rachel Berry was better than this.


	15. Chapter 15

"I imagine it's a positive experience, being able to see me on days when you're supposed to be in lessons with Claire." Jesse said as a greeting, closing the book he was reading and giving Rachel a smile that was equal parts smug and endearing. Or maybe it was only smug, but smug on Jesse St. James was almost endearing.

In any case.

"I know it's a surprise," Rachel acknowledged as she sat down and gave him a weak smile. "Considering I opted not to book us a rehearsal space."

It was Tuesday, and Claire had cancelled their afternoon session to watch rehearsals of a NYADA dance troupe that were staging a showcase after midterms. Claire wasn't part of the troupe, but she had mentioned something about staking out the competition or something to that effect. Instead of joining the dancer, Rachel had asked Jesse if he was available to meet up with her, and he had agreed. She had offered coffee instead of music lessons, though, which was why they were seated at a coffee shop that Jesse had indicated, a place that was cozy and sparsely populated, with mismatched furniture and softly-playing college radio music wafting from speakers and was situated a few blocks from the studio they usually met in.

Jesse tilted his head to the side as he regarded the girl. "I take it this is a social call."

"In a way, yes." Rachel nodded.

"And in other ways?"

Rachel didn't answer. Instead she focused on the book on the table, the title of which she couldn't see from her vantage point. She glanced up at Jesse. "I never pegged you as someone who reads a lot."

Jesse gave a small laugh. "Well, certainly not when I was at Carmel." His smile was almost self-deprecating. "Turns out I like reading, if it interests me."

Rachel had to smile back at that comment. "I can't believe I still have a bunch of things to read before midterms, considering I'm in a performing arts college."

"Mmhmm." Jesse hummed. "How's that going?"

"The reading?" Rachel clarified, and at his nod, shrugged. "It's... going. I suppose I should be glad that basic subjects like Math and Science are offset by classes such as History of Music and Arts."

Jesse grinned. "I'd much rather read about that, too."

Rachel grinned back, relaxing into their familiar banter even as she felt the gravity of what she really wanted to talk to him about weighing her down.

"I enjoyed your video upload from last night." Jesse remarked.

Rachel looked up from her perusal of the laminated sheet that served as a menu, which had been lying on the table.

"It must have been an interesting experience, singing from The Nightmare Before Christmas so close to summer." Jesse noted.

"I figured you would appreciate the effort." Rachel admitted.

Jesse, who was also reading through the menu, glanced up at her. "That's a flattering notion, but my opinion should be the least of your concern when choosing a song."

"You always comment on my insistence in choosing pop songs." Rachel reminded.

"Because most pop songs are simple." Jesse countered. He leaned forward, lowering the menu back onto the table. "Your voice is far and beyond the capability of most pop singers. You're doing yourself a disservice singing songs that don't challenge you. If you're going to be trite in your song choices, you might as well sing something more personal." He paused. "Do you still write songs?"

Rachel blinked, startled at the sudden inquiry, having previously been ready to defend her preference towards pop songs. Instead, she found herself being a little introspective as she considered how to answer.

Songwriting had been an outlet for her during her junior year, when she had discovered that she wasn't as close with her fellow glee club members as she liked to believe, and she had once again been dumped by Finn. Quinn had been reinstated to her status as head cheerleader, and Kurt, who was probably the closest thing she'd had to a friend - even though back then they were more friendly acquaintances than anything - had transferred to Dalton Academy as a response to Dave Karofsky's bullying. She was a girl with an abundance of feelings, and after a summer of developing what she'd thought to be a friendship with Quinn and Kurt and being in a dating relationship with Finn, having all those relationships removed had left her bereft of companionship (at the time she considered Mike and Noah her closest friends, but Mike had Tina and Puck tried to keep his distance since Finn kept harassing him about Puck's friendship with her).

Most of her songwriting efforts had been an abject failure, the use of a rhyming dictionary being one of the obvious failures of the endeavor.

Yes, maybe she shouldn't have feigned helplessness with Finn and citing My Headband and Only Child as examples of her work, but she'd been desperate. She had known that the biggest flaw in the Quinn-Finn relationship was that Finn was basically useless except for his status as quarterback as far as Quinn was concerned, and she had figured that if she could remind Finn how essential he had been to _her_, she could get him back.

Not that Finn had been particularly encouraging. In fact, in retrospect Rachel had to concede the point that the only person in Glee Club who had actually been helpful regarding writing their own compositions had been Quinn, even if Quinn had admitted to her once it was because she had been adopting a "keep your friends close and your enemies closer" approach to Rachel.

And Jesse, of course, who had encouraged New Directions to sing their own songs for Nationals in New York. She wondered if he ever regretted suggesting that, since it had been their composition "Pretending" that had gotten Finn and Rachel back together.

Not that Finn had written it himself, even though he'd said he did. The boys had all contributed to that song, as she would learn from Mike months later.

She digressed.

"Not lately, no." Rachel finally answered, after they had given their food order to the waitress.

"That's a shame. How about song arrangement? I recall you enjoying doing that." Jesse said.

Rachel shook her head. Rearranging Britney Spears' ...Oops I Did It Again into a pseudo-jazz number didn't count, since she knew it hadn't really worked.

"Hmm."

Jesse's frown was enough for Rachel to know he wasn't happy hearing any of that. She didn't like knowing she was disappointing him. "I'm sorry."

Jesse blinked, his expression showing his confusion as he frowned at her. "Why are you apologizing?"

"You're disappointed."

He shrugged. "I'd rather you challenging yourself instead of relying on me to force you into it, but there's no need to apologize. It's not like you're doing things on purpose just to offend me."

"Oh."

An uncomfortable silence followed, since they both knew exactly why Rachel had felt the need to apologize. The reason was six feet four inches tall and lived in Lima, Ohio - Rachel knew that Jesse was of the opinion that Finn Hudson often treated his relationship with Rachel as a hassle, that him dating her should be a privilege for her; and when she said or did something that he found contrary to him or his opinions, felt that it detracted from him in any way, it was her fault and never his.

It was as good a segue as any, she supposed.

She waited for their coffee to arrive, grateful that Jesse had chosen an isolated corner of the shop and that there was a reasonable din to their environment. It was the perfect mix of private and public.

She watched Jesse mix his coffee, and as he began to stir, she took a sip of her own cup of coffee before she spoke again. "I broke up with Brody."

If her gaze had been any higher than his cup of coffee, she would have missed the momentary pause in his stirring. But her gaze never lifted, and she had seen it.

"I see."

Rachel looked up, frowning at Jesse's lack of a reaction. "It wasn't working out."

Jesse nodded. "I'm sorry to hear it."

"You're sorry?" Rachel echoed.

Jesse shrugged. "Breakups are hard. That's just a universal truth."

Was he being serious right now? Rachel reined in her frustration, and deciding to bite the bullet, asked, "Are you dating someone?"

Again with the momentary pause. Jesse glanced at her, his blue eyes guarded even as he answered, "I'm dating, yes."

Oh. Well. Rachel tried to quell the disappointment. She had known, right? She knew he wasn't sitting around writing Jesse + Rachel with hearts in... whatever writing material he had.

Didn't hurt any less.

In a small voice, because any louder and she knew her voice would give away her disappointment, "Did I make myself unavailable?"

Jesse frowned. "Unavailable?"

Rachel nodded, struggling to find her footing conversationally, after that bombshell. "Before Brody and I started our relationship, when we agreed to not be exclusive because I had caught him... I guess you could call it cheating, but he wasn't, he said I made myself unavailable." Rachel looked up to look at Jesse. "Did I do that? Did I make myself unavailable?"

"You had a boyfriend." Jesse reminded gently. "You were in a relationship, Rachel. You _were_ unavailable."

"It was an open relationship."

"That's not the point."

"And now that I'm _not_ in a relationship?" Rachel pressed.

Jesse visibly hesitated, before he took a deep breath and exhaling it. "I was under the impression this arrangement between us was professional and friendly, and not in any kind of romantic vein."

Rachel could only stare at him.

"And as for making yourself unavailable?" Jesse continued. He sighed. "As far as I'm concerned you haven't been available since Nationals in New York."

Oh.

Rachel frowned at that piece of information, and found herself at a loss for words. She had never seen it that way: getting engaged and nearly marrying Finn, maybe, but he was talking about way before that, he was talking about Nationals in New York. Since _Nationals_? It had been a small moment in time, she had asked him to stay in Ohio so she could focus on Nationals but then Finn had surprised her onstage during their duet by kissing her.

And it hit her.

Jesse had told them it was awkward and unprofessional while Finn had described it as the Superman of kisses. And she had stood there, silent, not agreeing or disagreeing, the shock and - let's be honest, humiliated horror - of being kissed in the middle of a performance not having worn off. Later on, after the furor had died down, Jesse had pulled her aside and told her that the kiss onstage in the middle of the performance can just be Finn being asinine, his ineptitude forcing them out of the competition; It didn't have to mean anything, if she didn't want it to.

All she had to do was say it out loud, and to tell Finn the same.

Jesse had tried to give her a way out, and she had chosen Finn.

The next day she and the rest of New Directions had flown home to Lima and Jesse had stayed behind. At the time Rachel had been too preoccupied to ask for details.

After that the next time she had seen Jesse was at Nationals in Chicago. And months later, when she had needed help, she had called him, and he had answered.

"That's not true." She managed to croak out, even though she knew it was, at the very least, partially true.

"That's beside the point."

"No, it isn't." Rachel insisted. "I'm not with Finn anymore. I broke up with Brody. I'm not unavailable. I'm moving on."

"I've heard that before." Jesse reminded.

Rachel glanced away, composing herself in the face of Jesse's matter-of-fact stance in their conversation. "So if this isn't about winning me back, why are you here? Why do you mock them? Why do you want me out of my relationships, if you don't want me?"

Jesse sighed. "That's not the point."

"Is this all just a game to you?"

Jesse's gaze sharpened at the accusation, the first real reaction she had gotten thus far. His voice had an edge to it as he uttered, "It's not a game."

Rachel sat back, putting distance between her and that gaze.

"Rachel." Jesse leaned forward, refusing to let her off after she had started this conversation. He looked at her meaningfully. "It's not a game. I'm here because you asked. Because I care about you. This means something to you, and because I care about you it means something to me, too. And I like doing things for you. I can do nice things without any kind of ulterior motive." Pause. "Save for the inevitable talented costar, but that's neither here nor there. It's not a game."

"But if you care..."

Jesse ran his hand over his hair, and Rachel smiled sadly as she remembered calling him out for his Danny Zuko move when he got nervous. Was he nervous now?

"Of course I care. And if I were the same shallow and weak-willed boy I used to be? We wouldn't be having this conversation." Jesse finally admitted.

Rachel had to smile at that, even though it quickly faded as she noted, "But you won't."

"I won't." Jesse confirmed.

"I don't understand." Rachel admitted.

Jesse's lips curled to a bemused smile. "Have you ever heard the adage, 'fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me'?"

Rachel nodded, and wondered where he was going with this.

Jesse took a sip from his cup of coffee. "Some people subscribe to the three-strikes-you're-out approach. I'm a fool me once/fool me twice kind of guy."

Rachel was sure her confusion was obvious.

Jesse smiled patiently. "I never lied about how I felt about you."

She was really confused as to where he was going with his rapid turns of conversation.

"Let's be very clear on that. I never lied about how I felt about you." Jesse repeated. "I was told to approach you, but everything that happened after was very real. Including the part where my show choir director told me my scholarship to UCLA was dependent on my winning Nationals. I told you once that I traded love for a fourth National Championship but what I didn't tell you was that I basically traded love for my future."

"You could have told me that."

Jesse's laugh was wry, almost bitter. She didn't need her extensive background in music properties to recognize the pitch and timbre of his voice. "Would you have listened? Would you have understood that choice? That love doesn't fix everything? You'd tagged me as the villain of your story and that's fine. I deserved that. But I never lied to you."

"What does that have to do with us?"

"To be clear that there _was_ an 'us'. It wasn't a ploy, it wasn't a trick, it wasn't a lie. It was, in fact, very real." Jesse grit out. "So real, that I came back to fix things, to make amends. I apologized, repeatedly, and I thought you understood."

"I did understand." Rachel insisted. "I do."

"But you don't." Jesse corrected, softly. "If you did you wouldn't throw in my face repeatedly how you don't know how much of our dating past was real."

"I never-"

"You said that, almost verbatim, in Chicago." Jesse reminded. "And you keep questioning my motives. Before you protest your innocence, let me remind you that you did it, just a moment ago."

Rachel's interjection died on her lips.

"So I know you still don't believe me." Jesse concluded.

"I believe you." Rachel said softly.

Jesse leaned back in his seat, his gaze falling down to his cup of coffee. "None of it was a lie. Not to me."

Rachel regarded him sadly, realizing now that when she said she'd broken his heart too, she hadn't realized the extent of the damage she had caused.

Yes, they have talked about this before, and she had forgiven him, but maybe a part of her still held on to that hurt, that betrayal. Maybe it was the fact that his actions came alongside with Shelby's rejection of her as a daughter, but she held on to her hurt feelings almost fiercely.

It was at that point a feeling of dread crept up Rachel's spine, points of the conversation piecing together and she began to understand Jesse's tangential thread.

"You would understand why I'd feel slighted at the realization that I was the one being lied to."

"I never lied to you." Her defensive answer came quickly - too quickly - that even Rachel knew it wasn't completely true.

"The same way you told me before that you were ready to move on past Finn?" Jesse questioned.

Rachel faltered.

"I would have - I _have_ forgiven Run Joey Run; I have always asserted that I can understand the thrill and enjoyment of having the competing affections from three individuals. It was misguided, but I can understand your motivation." Jesse expounded. "That our relationship was so easily cast aside and forgotten the moment Finn wanted you back? Not so easily ignored."

Rachel remained silent. She had wanted to hear Jesse's side of things and, well, she was getting it. She had forced him into this conversation, so she would take it.

"One year later, I pursued you. I came back and pursued you. And you told me you wanted to concentrate on Nationals. Because I respect you, because I respect your ambition, your choices and your boundaries, I respected your request for time and distance while you were in New York. To concentrate on Nationals, you said." Jesse glanced down quickly, and took a deep breath. "I came to New York because I couldn't stay away, but I was honoring your choice to focus on the competition."

She wanted him to stop, but she knew that deep down she wanted to hear his side. Deep down, she needed to hear it.

Jesse's smile was deprecating. "Apparently none of that matters when Finn throws away your chances at winning."

"I wasn't lying." She said softly, quietly, repeating her assertion and hoping that the more she said it the more it would be true. She hadn't been lying, but maybe her actions told more about her motivations than what she believed.

"But you weren't telling the truth, either, were you?" Jesse prodded. "When you said you wanted to focus on Nationals, when you asked me to keep away. It wasn't me, but it wasn't about you, either. It was never about you. You were biding your time and strung me along until Finn made a move."

She couldn't even protest that he was misinterpreting things, because that was exactly what had happened. She hadn't intended it to be so, but the facts spoke for themselves.

"When that happened," Jesse recalled, "I got it. I wasn't the guy you wanted. And maybe I never was."

Rachel sniffled, and swept the back of her hand to wipe at the tears in her eyes, unaware of when, exactly, she had started to cry. It wasn't true, she wanted to tell him, he was wrong - so wrong - but felt that maybe he needed to say this out loud. She could tell him otherwise, and prove him wrong later, but first she wanted him to say his piece. He needed to say it, and she knew she needed to hear it, too.

Jesse sighed, and glanced up at her, reaching into his pocket and handing her his handkerchief. "It sucks, but it is what it is. And that's OK. Because I'm the guy who can help you achieve your dreams. I've always believed that, that's never gone away. That's why I came when you asked, that's why I'm here."

"So I don't even get to have a say in this?" Rachel asked tearfully, dabbing her eyes with the cloth in a useless attempt to curb her crying. "You decide all that, and that's it?"

"Am I wrong?" Jesse countered gently. "The fact of the matter, Rachel, is that I can't be swept up in you, be caught up in the chase and the thrill of nearly getting you only to realize you don't really want me. Not again. I can't do that again. If that's what you want, then this can't work. But I'm here for you, whatever you need. I can be a source of support and help or whatever else you need to help you achieve your dreams."

She had to remind herself that she had asked for this. She had wanted to know how he felt about her, and she got it.

Knowing she had started this didn't help in getting the tears to stop.

She was distraught, and angry, and sad, but she was glad that he didn't try to come near her to wrap her in his arms to comfort her because they both knew that after what he had said, she would feel that she wouldn't deserve it. And that's how she felt: if he stepped up, if he comforted her right now, she would feel that it would be the injury to the insult of him choosing not to pursue her. To wrap her up in his arms was a comforting and intimate gesture, and she had already stomped on his heart one too many times to deserve his comfort.

It was embarrassing, of that she had no doubt, to be a girl crying in the middle of a coffee shop. She also knew for a fact that lesser people would have left her alone to cry by herself, having been left alone in the past on a stage, in the middle of a hallway, in the middle of a freaking out-of-town Christmas tree lot. Lesser people would have left her, to avoid the burden of being stared at accusingly for having made the sad girl cry.

But Jesse sat there patiently, and it meant so much more than she could ever tell him.


End file.
